


took the long road

by lightninginabottle0613



Series: you and me, sunday driving [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Road Trip, Angst with a Happy Ending, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Smut, F/M, References to Depression, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2020-11-09 05:01:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 95,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20847929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightninginabottle0613/pseuds/lightninginabottle0613
Summary: “You shouldn’t be in here by yourself. The only men that come in here are thieves and creeps,” he said.If she was put off by his demeanor, Arya was even more taken aback by his tone.“Which one are you then?”-(Arya Stark has two months to kill and three-thousand miles ahead of her, before her career begins - until a grumpy hitchhiker causes her to change course, in more ways than one.)





	1. oldtown to highgarden

**Author's Note:**

> each chapter will be named to map out arya’s route across westeros (which, i’ll just note now, is very zig-zaggy. i did consult a few maps and tried to make it as realistic as possible, but it’s still a bit wonky.)
> 
> entirely arya POV. also, this is in the tags, but TW for themes of depression/anxiety/general mental health. 
> 
> (my deepest, sincerest admiration to anyone who is writing/has ever written a multi-chapter fic, bc this shit is hard fam.)

_Ms. Stark,_

_On behalf of the Browne School and the entire administration of Southwestern University, I am pleased to award you with a Master of Social Work (MSW). Final grades for all spring-term courses will be posted by the end of this week, and diplomas will be sent to the address you provided on your application for graduation within seven (7) business days. _

_If you require information on the application process for licensure, please contact the Registrar’s office._

_Congratulations on this momentous accomplishment. It has been a pleasure having you in the program over the last two years, and I speak for all faculty when I say you are going to change lives._

_Warm wishes and best of luck in your future endeavors,_

_Dr. Samwell Tarly_

_Dean of The Browne School of Clinical Social Work_

_Southwestern University at Oldtown_

____

One measly email didn’t quite seem to measure up to the blood, sweat, and tears Arya had put into her graduate degree, but she guessed it wasn’t really much different from a piece of paper.

She wasn’t sure what she was expecting, really. How she was expecting to feel. She was exactly where she wanted to be, after all. She had a degree under her belt from the most prestigious social work program in Westeros; she networked the _shit_ out of her second year and managed to secure an outpatient clinician position at a therapy and behavioral center in Winterfell, allowing her to be close to her family; and she was getting ready to live her dream of working with children. Arya had long thought that the country’s mental health system needed an overhaul, but the resources for helping young people navigate those issues were especially slim. 

She had experienced it firsthand in her early teens, when depression first hit her like a ton of bricks. The only accessible option had been in-school counseling, which had done little beyond inspiring her to someday become the kind of support that she so desperately needed.

After her brother’s fall, when she saw how generous the opportunities were for _physical_ therapy, her mind was even more concretely made up on the path she would take. Because mental health was physical, too, wasn’t it? Fatigue, headaches, sensory overload. So many aspects of mental health weren’t taken seriously, and so many people unnecessarily suffered in silence. She was determined to change that - even if only for one person.

Arya was still picking up a lot of those pieces from her adolescence. She had settled into a pretty steady therapy routine once she moved away for her first four years at university, but despite the help, the last six years had been incessant. Like she hadn’t quite lost herself, but she could feel herself slowly slipping away. She had developed coping mechanisms for processing her emotions, knew what she needed to do and who she needed to call and where she needed to go when things felt cloudy. But something was still missing. She was craving…well, she wasn’t sure what, exactly.

Some time to really breathe would be a good start, though.

Maybe it was this craving that had gotten her to this point, or maybe it was her innate affinity for making her poor mother sigh in resignation at her every decision - she was really, really good at that, even as an adult. Whatever the case, as Arya zipped her last duffel bag and tossed it into the van - into the empty space where three more rows of seats would normally be - she already felt lighter. Something about having unstructured time, even if it was just two months, to just drive and explore and _exist_ before having to report to the ‘real’ world - it was liberating.

____

“I just don’t understand why you wouldn’t want us all down there to see you graduate,” her mother sighed over the phone.

“Mum, I’m not even walking, so it would be a wasted trip. We’ve been over this,” Arya replied, phone between her shoulder and her ear, as she slammed the trunk of the van closed.

“Is it us, then? Do you not want us involved anymore?”

“It has nothing to do with you,” Arya huffed. This argument was a classic in the Catelyn Stark repository.

“Then why not just come straight home and spend the next two months here? You can get back in the swing of things, relax a bit. We’ll pay for your airfare and fly out all of your furniture.”

Arya braced herself. “I sold all of my furniture to pay for supplies.”

She heard her mother take a slow, deep breath. (Again - really, _really_ good at that.) “Sometimes I don’t know where you came from, Arya. Honestly.”

“I’d be offended, but I’ve heard the ‘three full days in labor’ story more times than I can count, so I know that’s a lie,” Arya retorted sharply.

“If it’s not about us, then what is it?” Catelyn pressed, ignoring her daughter’s joke. “What could you _possibly _stand to gain from driving across the country by yourself?”

“I have no idea,” Arya said with a smile. “That’s the best part.”

“I hope you’re not buying into that ‘finding yourself’ nonsense that your generation is so enamored with.” 

“Ignoring that,” she answered, rolling her eyes.

Her mother took another, calmer breath. “Just don’t shut us out. I know you’ve been…struggling, still.” Catelyn never quite knew how to broach the topic of her daughter’s mental health - a fact that had greatly contributed to their tumultuous relationship over the years. “I don’t want you to isolate yourself more.”

Arya finished up her final checks on the van and stopped to lean her back against the side. The warmth of the metal on her exposed upper back sent a wave of extra patience over her.

“I’m looking forward to moving back home,” she said slowly, carefully. “I’m visiting Sansa on my way up, and I plan to pass through Winterfell on my way to The Wall, before I head back down. But there’s a difference between _isolating_ myself and taking _time_ for myself.” She closed her eyes and lifted her chin to rest the top of her head more firmly on the side of the van. “I need this. Just trust me.” 

“It’s not you I don’t trust. It’s the rest of the world. I need you to be careful.” 

“Thank you for the advice. I was actually planning to be extremely reckless,” Arya said dryly. 

“_Arya._ Please.” 

She sighed. She got her sighs from her mother. “I’ll be careful. I promise.” 

There were a few beats of silence on the other line, and when her mother spoke again, her tone was softer. 

“We’ve fought so hard to get you home, little wolf,” Catelyn said, her voice breaking slightly. Arya’s heart ached at the sound of her childhood nickname. Her mother paused another beat, speaking again in a whisper. “And I’m so proud of you. I don’t say that enough.”

“Don’t cry,” Arya placated, blinking rapidly to avoid her own tears from forming. Such admissions from her mother were rare. “I’m still a phone call away. Except when I drive up really dangerous mountains or into the middle of the woods where there’s no cell reception,” she jabbed, attempting to lighten the mood.

Venturing into emotional territory with her mother was always a bit too much for her to handle. 

“You’ll send me to an early grave, Arya.” 

She laughed lightly. “Is dad around?” 

Catelyn let out a slow breath. “He’s off dealing with some turnover or another. I’ve lost track. But he’s under a bit of a deadline, so I’m afraid he’s not home.” 

Ned Stark owned and operated the largest real estate conglomerate in the North. He was staunchly committed to rebuilding the underdeveloped neighborhoods surrounding the city proper of Winterfell, but ongoing union disputes often left him without a consistent construction crew. Her father worked tirelessly. Arya may have gotten her sighs from her mother, but her passion for justice was all him. 

“That’s alright. I can call him from the road,” Arya conceded. She pushed off the side of the van and made her way to the driver’s side door. “Oh, before I forget, will you remind Bran to send me the download for that audiobook?” she asked, climbing into the high seat and getting comfortable for the first leg of her trip. 

Another sigh. “You know, there are _so_ many other things you could read other than that liberal-“ 

“What?” Arya yelled dramatically. “I can’t hear you, mother! I’m going through a tunnel!” 

“You haven’t even-“ 

“All my love!” she shouted, promptly ending the call. 

Arya slumped back into the worn leather fabric and let out a long exhale. In truth, she had spent the better part of her last semester second-guessing her decision to move back to Winterfell. It would mean being closer to Jon, who was indefinitely stationed at The Wall. It would mean getting to leave her mark on her favorite place in the world. But it would also mean living with her mother again, and that had almost been enough to make her change her mind. 

She knew that the pros far outweighed the one apparent con, but her relationship with Catelyn continued to be an uphill battle. Arya had never seemed to be enough for her, never quite lived up to her lofty expectations. Her friends were too colorful, her interests too eclectic. Was she sure she didn’t like girls, because she certainly dressed like someone who did. She had nothing to be depressed about, and she should really practice more gratitude for her station in life. Therapy was a farce designed to validate laziness and inaction. The list was endless. 

For her part, Catelyn tried her best to give Arya what she needed. She said the right words, showed up when it mattered most. But sometimes it felt like all she knew how to do was buy love - tell someone to name their price and forget the feelings bit. Arya would be happy if no one bought her another thing for the rest of her life, sometimes wanted to bury her last name deep within the earth and just carry on without it. Catelyn didn’t understand, thought her youngest daughter was ashamed of her family, when that couldn’t be farther from the truth.

None of it seemed to make sense in her head, and sitting there in the van, sifting through the layers of their relationship, made her remember exactly why she needed this time to herself. 

Self-care didn’t come easily to Arya, but she was dedicated to working on that. For once in her life. 

____

Her first inclination for self-care came about three hours into her journey, just outside of Horn Hill, when Arya decided that the van had a significant lack of sour cream and onion crisps. Figuring that she might as well top off the fuel tank while she was at it, she took the next exit off the Roseroad Interstate toward a rest stop. 

No one was outside when she hopped out of the van to get gas, but it was getting dark, so she stood with her back pressed against the car, pepper spray at her hip. Jon had mailed it to her a few days before she left, with a note saying he needed her to arrive at The Wall in one piece. The parking lot didn’t feel particularly shady, but the lights flickered just enough to spark unease. She finished up at the pump, locked the van, and set out briskly toward the adjoining convenience store. She was fixed on making this a brief pitstop.

The bell atop the threshold proved obsolete, as the old door creaked loudly on its hinges, and Arya was immediately hit with the smell of cheap coffee and cigarettes. A handful of men occupied the small shop - all larger than she was, but that was not a tough accomplishment.

Arya threw the hood of her sweatshirt over her head and made a beeline for the snack aisle. She reached for the crisps, before making a game time decision and going for the barbecue flavor instead. She had briefly paused to consider that she was an _adult_ who could buy _both_, when she heard two pairs of loud footsteps behind her.

“Look here, mate. If she’s this hot from the back, imagine what her front looks like,” came a man’s voice, gruff and low, presumably talking to another man of equal filth.

“Hey, sweetheart. Fancy a drink?” the other propositioned, slurring his words enough to indicate that he’d already had quite a few. “Bet we could show you a good time in the back of that van of yours.”

Arya’s fist clenched at her side, as her other hand came up to palm the holster of the mace at her hip. She waited to see if ignoring them would make them simply stumble away, but she felt, rather than heard, one man begin to hover closer behind her, the stench of stale liquor now apparent.

“I asked you a question, you little bitch,” he growled. Arya spun on her heels, raising her closed fist behind her head, preparing to throw a punch, when someone from her peripheral quite literally beat her to it. The assaulter swiftly fell to the side, onto the floor and out of view. 

She looked down to where the man had fallen and was startled to see a steady stream of blood pouring out of his nose. His crony hoisted him back to his feet by his underarm, and the two drunkenly staggered away, mumbling more profanities. She still felt a tall, looming presence, and only then did it register - a complete stranger had thrown a punch to defend her. Instinctively perturbed, Arya looked up.

The man was large and brawny, much more physically imposing than her two assailants, which explained why they scampered off without a fight. His scowl looked at home on his face, a slight frown line creasing the skin between his dark eyebrows. The hand that hadn’t thrown the punch was tightly gripping the strap of a large backpack, emphasizing the veins in his forearm. His chest was heaving slightly, surely from adrenaline, and his eyes - a disarming, penetrating shade of blue - shot down to meet hers. His sour expression intensified at the sight of her annoyance.

“You shouldn’t be in here by yourself. The only men that come in here are thieves and creeps,” he said.

If she was put off by his demeanor, Arya was even more taken aback by his tone.

“Which one are you then?”

She wasn’t the only one caught off guard anymore. “Architect,” he bit back.

“Didn’t fancy this whole charade as part of that job description. I can take care of myself, thanks,” she snapped, moving to brush past him and leave. She had lost her appetite.

“Yeah, you’re right. Should’ve just left you alone, huh?” the man called after her. She stopped in her tracks and turned back around to face him.

“Come out here looking to pick fights tonight, or what? Can I help you with something?”

The pair must have been quite a sight, staring each other down from opposite sides of the aisle. At the counter, a man argued with the cashier over a scratch-off ticket, and a group of teenage boys sounded a bit too giggly over near the freezers. Arya had forgotten how much rest stops were truly the Twilight Zone.

The man’s glare lingered on Arya for another few seconds, his eyes subtly raking her up and down. His breathing slowed, and his volume lowered.

“‘Course not, your highness. Wouldn’t wanna hold you up. Your carriage awaits,” he said sarcastically, gesturing dramatically toward the door behind her.

“You’re incredibly unpleasant. Anyone ever told you that?” Arya asked.

“This is the last time I try to help someone,” he grumbled, almost under his breath.

“You poor, unappreciated thing,” she said, rolling her eyes.

This seemed to strike a nerve. “Definitely should’ve left you alone. How can someone so small be such a pain in the ass?”

This guy had some balls. “You’d be surprised by what I can do. Can even throw my own punches, if you can believe it.” She wasn’t sure why she felt so inclined to continue the argument. She could have walked away approximately four insults ago, but something kept her rooted where she stood.

“Have a good night, your highness,” the man said with a fake smile. “Make sure you pivot from your back foot. Strengthens the impact.”

With that, he broke their standoff, storming past her, through the glass doors and into the night. She watched him as he stalked away, waiting to see which car he approached, purely for curiosity’s sake. When he strode past the last car in the lot and continued down the road, parallel to the guardrail and toward the busy highway, her stomach turned.

His words rang loudly in her head. _This is the last time I try to help someone._ At least he’d tried, though.

____

It was nearly midnight when Arya pulled into the campground in Highgarden, the vibrancy of the surrounding flowers still obvious, even in the pale moonlight.

She would explore in the morning - find a clearing in a field to journal, pick some roses for her father, skip rocks on the Mander. For now, though, she sought a dimly lit parking spot, close enough to a cluster of campers and the ranger’s station for her to feel safe, and settled into her makeshift bed in the back of the van.

She wished she could see the stars. That was always her favorite part of ‘camping’ in the backyard with her siblings growing up. Stars made her feel grounded, reminded her that there was beauty even in darkness. (Her mother would surely roll her eyes at that.) Instead of the night sky, Arya stared at the colorless ceiling of the van until she felt her eyelids droop.

The last thing she felt before she surrendered to sleep was an inexplicable emptiness - not because she was alone, but almost like she had missed a chance. A chance for what, she couldn’t begin to guess.

The last image she saw - and the same one that danced in and out of her dreams that night - was that of two blue eyes, staring down at her in silent question.


	2. highgarden to king's landing, theoretically

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> featuring - colors and phone calls and taking chances.

Arya stayed in Highgarden for nearly a week.

Her days there were filled with reds, yellows, and greens. Red wine from vineyard tours. Yellow hues, reflected from the sun, that bathed the landscape and made every edge seem softer. Fields of scarlet and golden roses, as far as the eye could see. And the deep emerald green of the shrubbery - the Reach was not known as the most fertile region in Westeros for nothing. Even when she sat alone, she could feel the life practically buzzing all around her.

Her nights were filled with blues and greys, mostly. The shallow river where she watched the sun go down, and the lake near the briar labyrinths where she swam each night to rinse off the day’s sweat. (She’d have a proper shower at her next stop.) The shadows of the trees on the forest floor. The grey rocks by the river’s bed where she sat each night to chat to her family - to her father, to Bran, to Jon despite the shoddy reception - remembering the need to stay connected, even when she was on her own. The gnarly bluish-purple bruise she got on her left knee when she slipped on them once.

Her dreams even had a blue-grey tint, swirls of both shades dancing through her head in abstract patterns. She couldn’t work out why, but she found herself thinking of those dreams during waking hours, thinking about how good those two colors looked together. The combination felt familiar, somehow.

When she wasn’t being a tourist, she found that she liked strolling through the nearby open-air market, finding gifts for Sansa, for Robb’s girlfriend and their unborn child, even for her mother. She liked making light conversation with the different vendors. Since the morning after her arrival, she had felt an overwhelming urge for connection, beyond what she already had with her family. She had been so outgoing as a child; she had lost most of that over the years, when her mental health started its torturous decline. She was glad to have that affinity back again - however slight.

Above all else, she mostly just enjoyed setting her own pace - so much of her life over the past six years had been relentless, and she felt quietly grateful for this opportunity to relearn her limits.

She would have stayed longer - could, honestly, have stayed forever. But she still had thousands of miles to go, and time was already flying by.

____

If Arya loved exploring new places, she _really_ fucking loved driving.

She packed up the van bright and early, an extra pep in her step at the thought of the nearly twelve-hour trip ahead of her. She planned to arrive at her sister’s house in King’s Landing by the evening, just in time to see Ember, her fiery three-year-old niece, before her early bedtime.

She actually missed Sansa - a sentiment she never thought she’d feel. The sisters had come a long way since they were kids, and it had taken a lot of healing for them to reach this point. But gradually - like everything else in her life recently, it seemed - they had rebuilt.

Before she knew it, about seven hours had passed, and the sun had started to set along the horizon in front of her. She had nearly listened to Taylor Swift’s entire discography - a guilty pleasure she was loath to admit - and now she drove in silence. She liked being able to take in the colors of the changing sky without distraction, being able to truly revel in her favorite time of day.

The sound of her phone ringing abruptly snapped her out of her meditation. She answered without checking the caller ID.

“Hello?”

“Hey, babe,” came her sister’s quiet voice. If Arya didn’t know any better, she would think Sansa had just woken up. But she knew she hadn’t - Sansa always sounded tired these days.

“Just checking in. Have you left Highgarden yet?”

“Left yet? I’m only about five hours away from you,” Arya said offhandedly.

“Gods, what time did you leave this morning?”

“Don’t even know. It was still dark outside.”

“Right, sorry. I forgot that you’re insane,” Sansa teased. Her voice grew quiet again. “You know, you don’t need to rush. If you need to stop to break up the trip…we’ll be alright over here for another day or two."

Arya felt her heart clench. She knew how exhausting it was to pretend everything was fine, and she would recognize that behavior anywhere.

“I know, Sans. I’ll still be there soon,” she replied, as softly as she could muster.

“Well,” Sansa said, seemingly determined to push past her sadness, “I know _one_ person who is dying to see you.”

Arya smiled wider than she had all day. “I miss that kid so much, it’s stupid.”

“Careful with that word around her, though. She called Mr. Baelish a ‘skeezeball’ the other day.”

“Your neighbor? She’s not wrong.”

“Oh, I know. I had to pretend like I didn’t know where she’d heard it.”

“My queen,” Arya laughed, before relaxing her voice again. “How has she been otherwise, though? Have the nightmares stopped?”

She couldn’t see her sister, but Arya knew she had taken a deep breath, swallowed distinctly. “They’ve lessened. We’re…we’re working through it.”

It’d been four months since the accident - the one that had made national news because of the ‘miraculous survival’ of the tiny girl asleep in the backseat, the one that had shut down the Goldroad Interstate for a full day. The one that had made Sansa a twenty-six-year-old widow.

“Good. That’s…good. One day at a time, right?”

“Yeah. One day at a time.”

The sisters sat in silence for a few long moments - she could hear Sansa moving around, probably tidying some mess or another. Arya directed her attention back to the pale orange sky. For all of their differences, this was one thing they had in common as adults - no need to fill the space. Maybe it had come from so many years of saying things without thinking, things they didn’t mean. Silence between them now sometimes felt more loving than words could.

Arya broke it first. “Hey, I know there’s still a bit of time before I’m settled back North,” she started, “but, once I am, if you need…I don’t know, some time. Feel free to send up the kid. I can look after her for as long as you need.”

She could hear her sister’s fond smile through her words. “Thank you. I’ll let you know.” She paused before continuing. “Just don’t let mum sink her claws in too far. She’s been on me lately about etiquette lessons and-“

“Oh, dear. We can’t have that,” Arya cut her off, a smirk evident in her voice.

“On second thought, I might enjoy watching her tell mum that she wants to be ‘just like Aunt Arya’ when she grows up. She’d probably keel right over.” 

Arya snorted. “No daughter of ours will be a ‘proper lady.’ I won’t stand for it.” 

“Ours, huh?” 

“Yeah, didn’t I tell you? This visit is actually a surprise second-parent adoption.” 

Sansa laughed like Arya hadn’t heard in a while. “I’m really glad you’re coming, Arya.” 

“Me, too,” Arya said in a near-whisper. 

“Please, though, take your time. If you need an extra day, or if you need to take a rest, or whatever. I need you here in one piece.” 

“Why does everyone keep saying that?” 

“Because you’re a fragile little bean,” Sansa said in a baby voice, breaking into a fit of giggles over Arya’s protests. “Just take your time.” 

“Good_bye_, Sansa,” Arya said, rolling her eyes.

“Bye, love.”

____

At first, she thought her eyes were playing tricks on her.

She was getting tired, and the sun had nearly set, and she’d pulled off the interstate shortly after her phone call with Sansa, so she could get out of the van and stretch. She had just reached the outskirts of the Kingswood, signaling the beginning of the final leg of her trip. She’d made a silent vow, after the rest stop incident on her first night, to only break during the day, but she figured a quick break wouldn’t hurt.

So, when she stood upright again, finished touching her toes and cracking her neck and twisting her torso, she couldn’t help but blame her exhaustion for who she saw staring at her, leaning against the wall outside the shop, directly in front of her parking spot. The blue eyes that, somehow, had refused to escape her since she’d first seen them.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” the man said in disbelief. His scowl game remained on point.

“Are you stalking me?” Arya asked, half-jokingly, some residual bite still in her voice from their last encounter.

He scoffed. “Don’t flatter yourself, your highness.”

Any humor in her tone quickly vanished. “Stop calling me that,” she snapped. 

“Fancy van, nice clothes. Doing a bit of ‘Eat, Pray, Love,’ are we? Seems pretty privileged, as far as I can tell.”

“You don’t know a fucking thing about me,” Arya said, nearly spitting. “And what about you? A big-shot architect doesn’t own a car? What are you trying to prove?”

“Didn’t say I was a big-shot. Just said I was an architect,” the man said through his teeth.

“Guess I don’t know you either, then,” she replied.

She could practically _feel_ her blood pumping, and she could tell he felt a similar rage. Despite the animosity, they both stood frozen. Arya willed herself to slow her breathing, remembering the pang she’d felt the last time she’d seen him - walking away, almost dejectedly, into the night. 

He had approached her in the snack aisle that fateful evening to ask for help, she’d realized later, as she’d drifted to sleep in Highgarden. It had clearly taken some courage. And she’d done what she’d become so accustomed to doing - she pulled away. 

Arya took a deep breath and closed her eyes, readying herself for a calmer exchange. Her voice came out evenly this time. “I’m sorry.” 

“For what?” the man grumbled. He was clearly working on steadying his tone, too. 

“For not offering you a ride that night.” 

She opened her eyes and took in his expression - eyes still fixed on her, a bit surprised at the turn in conversation. 

“For not offering to drive a man you don’t know to an undisclosed location and trusting that he won’t murder you?” 

“Well, let’s start there. Disclose your location.” 

He paused before responding, looking her over with narrowed eyes. “Storm’s End.” 

“Great, problem solved.” 

“What about the bit where I might murder you?" 

“See, something tells me you wouldn’t.” 

“You really shouldn’t trust people that are bigger than you so easily.” 

“Then I wouldn’t trust anyone, would I?” 

He looked at her curiously, seeming to not know what to make of her joke. After a beat, he mirrored her previous actions - closed his eyes and breathed deeply. 

“I don’t like asking for help. You seemed like a safer bet than…everyone else in there.” 

Arya looked him over, amused. She wasn’t the only one who struggled with apologies. 

“I’m sorry, too,” he offered finally, head bent low and eyes cast upward, directly at her. 

The playing field once again evened between them, Arya suddenly heard her sister’s voice in her head. 

_Just take your time._

She’d never been to Storm’s End, it would only add about a day to her trip, and this whole thing was supposed to be about exploring new places, making new connections. Her first impressions about people were never wrong - she prided herself on being able to read people, and she was flummoxed by how simultaneously infuriated and intrigued she was by this man. 

Plus, her mother would have an absolute _aneurysm _at the idea of her daughter traveling with a hitchhiker. That sealed the deal. 

“Tell you what,” Arya asserted, turning behind her to open the front door of the van and hopping inside, “I’ll take you to Storm’s End. As long as you don’t call me ‘your highness’ ever again.” 

He rolled his eyes, as she turned the key in the ignition. She slammed the door, rolling down the window, so she could still talk to him. 

“You strike a tough bargain,” he said, starting to walk away. There were no other cars in the row of spots next to Arya, allowing her to turn the wheel and begin driving slowly right alongside him. 

“It really doesn’t have to be.”

He looked at her then, examined the way she continued to roll along next to him unflinchingly, his mouth twisting into the first semblance of a smile that Arya had ever seen from him. 

“You know, this is harassment,” he said, gesturing up and down with his index finger. 

“I could just drive away. I’m sure there are plenty of nice people like me willing to help you at this time of night.” 

“‘Nice,’ are you?” 

“Final chance, buddy. I hear the only people that come to rest stops like this are thieves and creeps.” 

He stopped walking, causing her to press on the brake, bringing the van to an abrupt halt. 

“Fine.” 

Arya smiled victoriously, reaching behind her to slide the side door of the van open for him to toss in his backpack. 

She sort of felt like she was floating outside of her own body - like someone else was in charge of making her decisions. She had somehow managed to convince a lonely traveler to let _her_ give _him_ a ride - it was _definitely _supposed to be the other way around. But she’d never have pressed if she hadn’t had that phone call with Sansa. And she did still have that pepper spray.

And, really, what were the chances that she’d even seen him again to begin with? 

He made his way to the passenger side door and climbed into the seat next to her. As large as the van was, he still took up an inordinate amount of space. He sat hunched over, hands awkwardly clasped in his lap, and looked over at her. 

“I have an address.” 

“I figured as much,” Arya replied sarcastically. 

He squirmed in the seat to reach a slip of paper in his back pocket and handed it over. They sat in silence as she deciphered his chicken-scratch and entered the information into the GPS. 

“You can adjust the seat. The lever’s on the side,” she muttered, setting up her phone, so the directions were within her line of sight.

“Right.” 

Hand on the gear shift, Arya watched him as he got comfortable, wriggling slightly and leaning his head against the window. He glanced over and gave her a small smile.

“Let’s rock and roll,” she said, throwing the van in drive and reaching forward to turn on music. Her phone was plugged in, so Taylor Swift came back on. She blushed but kept it on when he stayed quiet.

For twenty minutes, they drove in silence - comfortable silence, but still silence. She opted not to ask him too many questions. It seemed like, wherever he was going, he wasn’t particularly excited to get there. Remembering the intensity of their interactions up to this point, she didn’t want to press.

It dawned on her suddenly, and she snorted.

“What’s so funny?” he asked quietly. She wondered if he had been falling asleep.

“I’m Arya, by the way.”

He said nothing for a beat, then barked out a laugh, one that made his entire body convulse.

“Gendry.”

____

Arya and Gendry fell back into reticence after their name exchange, and, before she knew it, it had grown completely dark. At this rate, they’d reach Storm’s End in the early hours of the morning, and Arya figured she could catch a few hours of sleep before going on her way to King’s Landing. 

They passed through a small town shortly into their drive, and she shot Sansa a quick text when they stopped at a red light.

** arya:** taking your advice after all. i’ll be there tomorrow evening

** sansa:** good to hear. what changed your mind?

** arya:** i feel like ‘it’s a long story’ is an awful cliché but…it’s a long story

** sansa:** can’t wait to hear it <3

____

Now in the thick of the Kingswood, Arya switched off her music and focused on the road, maneuvering carefully through the shadows cast by the surrounding trees. She was pretty sure Gendry was asleep, so she almost jumped out of her skin when his deep voice cut through the dead air.

“You’re not gonna ask me anything?”

She clutched at her chest to soothe her startled breathing. “I…didn’t think you wanted to talk about it.”

He laughed. “I mean, you’re dead right. Just figured you’d wanna know.”

“You’re right, too,” she said with a sly smile.

“Go ‘head, then,” he challenged.

She paused to consider which question she should toss out first. “Why are you hitchhiking instead of driving?”

He shrugged. “Don’t particularly care when I get to where I’m going. I told my uncles I’d get there when I get there.” He said the word ‘uncles’ like it tasted bitter in his mouth. “Figured taking the power out of my hands would prolong the trip as much as possible.”

“So, why are you going at all? If you don’t care when you get there.”

“My father died,” he said without hesitation. He put up a hand when she opened her mouth. “Don’t apologize. I didn’t know him.”

“So-“

“I got a call from his brothers a couple weeks ago. Some shit about having to collect inheritance and being the next in line to take over his business. The first part interests me much more than the second.”

“I thought you already had a job, anyway.”

“I guess he works in real estate? Worked, I mean. So, it’s semi-related. I don’t know. I might just take it to shut them up.”

“Why take it if it doesn’t interest you?”

Gendry let out a long exhale and tossed his hands up, letting them fall back into his lap. “Need a change.”

“A change from what?”

He chuckled. “Shit, if I had known I was opening the bloody floodgates, I wouldn’t have told you to ask questions.”

“You can stop answering me whenever you want,” she retorted.

He laughed again softly, a sound that Arya found she quite liked, and she saw him shake his head out of the corner of her eye. “A change from everything. My mum died recently, too. _That_ you can apologize for, if you really want to. Ever since then, I’ve just been…going through the motions.”

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I mean…I don’t know what it’s like. But my sister…I just. I’ve seen how hard it is. I’m really sorry.”

“She was everything to me,” he said forlornly. “The one thing tying me to Blackcrown in the first place, and she’s gone. Now…I don’t know. Just wanna be somewhere else. Figure Storm’s End can’t be half bad.”

She nodded to herself, before she realized that he probably couldn’t see her movements in the darkness. Still, she stayed quiet.

“What about you, anyway?” he tested. “Where are you headed?” 

“I just graduated, and I have a couple months before I have to start working,” she answered. “Just taking my time, stopping to see some family. Ultimately headed up to the Wall to visit my brother. I haven’t seen him in three years.”

“What did you study?”

“Social work.”

He hummed, seeming impressed. “That’s cool.”

“I think so.”

A few more moments of silence passed, and she heard Gendry laugh again. 

“What now?” 

“So…you _are_ kind of doing an ‘Eat, Pray, Love’ thing.”

“Maybe with fewer elephants,” she conceded.

“Never been to the Wall before,” he mused, his voice getting quieter. She thought now he might actually be falling asleep. The words were halfway out of her mouth before she could stop them.

“Hey, if the fancy real estate job doesn’t work out, my passenger seat’s open. Probably won’t pay as well, but I have great taste in music.”

She chanced a glance away from the road and saw Gendry drifting off, eyes closed, a small smile plastered on his face. She couldn’t remember if he had been this attractive that first night at the rest stop, or if the moonlight was just extremely complimentary.

“I heard that Taylor Swift earlier. Don’t think I didn’t.” 

____

Arya wasn’t as partial to sunrises as she was to sunsets, but she still found peace in watching the sky change, no matter what time. Having fished a can of iced coffee from the bag behind her seat about two hours into the trek to Storm’s End, she was now teetering along the edge of wired and delirious, as she finished out the final two miles of the drive. Gendry had tossed and turned in his seat for most of the night, a fact by which Arya would normally have been annoyed. For some reason, she wasn’t.

She turned onto a quiet cul-de-sac, squinting to make note of the street signs, before finally pulling up in front of a large estate. The exterior was dark grey, almost black, made entirely of stone. It looked ancient. A tall tower stood proudly on the left end, and clusters of vines wound around the column. The furnishings - the window panes, the molding, the front door - shone a deep, dull gold. A bit much, Arya thought, but she remembered Gendry’s mention of an inheritance, and it made some more sense.

She put the van in park at the curb in front of the mansion, and she hesitated before reaching over to poke Gendry’s shoulder, not wanting to startle him. The contact, however insignificant, left her finger prickling when she returned it to the steering wheel. They’d been driving together all night, and it was the first time they had actually touched.

“Wake up, sleepyhead.” 

Gendry’s eyes opened slowly, and she watched in amusement as he took in his surroundings, clearly not recognizing where he was for a moment. He blinked rapidly at the sight of Arya and shook his head, running a hand through his already-disheveled hair. 

“Uh. Right. Guess this is it,” he stuttered, looking out the passenger side window for the first time to look at the house. He turned his head slowly back to Arya, who was still watching him fondly. 

“Thanks,” he said with a shy smile. “For…yeah. Thanks.” 

He held her gaze for another second before climbing down from the passenger seat onto the sidewalk. Arya felt herself flush when he stretched, raising his muscled arms over his head and causing his shirt to ride up slightly. She decided she was probably dehydrated. 

He collected his belongings and gave her one last wave, turning slowly toward the house and seeming to brace himself. Before he could get too far, whoever had possessed Arya’s body the previous night came back in full force. 

“Wait!” 

Gendry turned around, confused. He stared at her wordlessly, raising an amused eyebrow as her brain caught up with her. Her hands flew down to the center console, rummaging around for something to write both with and on. She found a green permanent marker and a torn napkin. 

“Here,” she offered, before she could think twice about it. She handed him the napkin, having haphazardly scribbled her phone number in the corner. 

“What’s this for?” he asked, a hint of mirth in his voice. 

She shrugged in a poor attempt to hide her blush. “Let me know how the family shit goes. I have a long drive ahead of me, and you’re not half bad.”

“You really want me to call?” 

Arya laughed at his confusion. “Wouldn’t offer if I didn’t, stupid.” 

He stared down at the napkin and looked back up at her, puckering his lips slightly and nodding his head.

“Thanks, Arya.” 

“Later, your highness,” she said mockingly, gesturing toward the ostentation behind him. He spun on his heels and flipped her off, as he walked away. 

____

By her calculations, Arya could afford to sleep exactly five and a half hours before she needed to hit the road again, if she wanted to get to Sansa’s in time to help her cook dinner, and she was determined not to waste a single second. She pulled out of the neighborhood after dropping off Gendry, chalking up the pit in her stomach to hunger and fatigue, and asked Siri for directions to the nearest park. 

Before long, she found a shaded spot near an array of covered gazebos in Shipbreaker Park. She pulled in and hurriedly scrambled into the back of the van, desperate for rest. After making sure the doors were properly locked and setting an alarm, Arya was nearly asleep before her head even hit her pillow. 

As always, the sound of her alarm came far too soon. 

She groaned and swatted blindly for her phone to silence it. She found the screen, eyes still closed, and repeatedly tapped the center where the snooze button typically popped up. The noise didn’t stop, and she dimly recalled that her alarm and her ringtone carried the same aggravating tune. 

She cracked her eyes open then. She vaguely clocked the fact that she technically still had twenty minutes of sleep left and furrowed her brow at the unknown number calling her. Still half-asleep, she answered without thinking.

“Hello?” she croaked, groggier than anticipated. She coughed a few times to clear her throat. 

“Have you left yet?” came the voice from the other end. 

“Have I...who’s this?” she asked, now rising from her blankets and attempting to wake up, rubbing her eyes furiously. 

“Oh.” The voice, the man, sounded discouraged. “Right, never-“

Arya’s eyes widened. “Gendry?” 

“Yeah,” he said, a bit sheepishly. “Sorry. Should’ve led with that. I didn’t mean to wake you.” 

“No, you didn’t!” she said quickly, realizing immediately that that was a lie. “I mean, actually, you did. But I needed it. To be up, I mean.” She shook her head, willing herself to put together a normal sentence. Pulling her phone back from her ear to check the time again, she remembered why she had given Gendry her phone number in the first place. “Family shit over already?”

“We went to breakfast, and they handed me an envelope. Pretty unceremonious,” he said. She couldn’t tell if he sounded disappointed or just emotionally drained. 

“And the job?” 

“Hard pass,” he said with a laugh. “I met the wife my father left behind. My stepmother, I guess. I’d have to work pretty closely with her, and I could barely be around her for two minutes without wanting to kill her.” 

“You, having low tolerance? I can’t imagine that,” Arya poked, laughing at the sound of his snort.

“So, what’s next, then? Sounds like you just came into some money. Don’t spend that all in one place, your highness.”

“Does your offer still stand?” he blurted out, the words coming out almost as one. 

“My offer?” Arya asked slowly, confused for a moment, then suddenly recalling her spontaneous invitation the previous night. Before she could indicate that she remembered, Gendry started rambling.

“Oh! Yeah, no, it’s totally fine. Forget I said anything. You were just kidding, I shouldn’t even-“

“Gendry, I-”

“No, seriously, Arya, don’t worry about it. You should probably-“

“_Gendry_,” she tried again, successfully cutting him off. 

“Yeah,” he breathed.

Arya climbed into the front seat from her nest in the back, phone tucked between her shoulder and her ear. 

“Are you back at the weird Addams Family house?” 

“Yes?” 

_Fuck it._ “I’ll be there in ten.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> absolutely no shade to my hunni taylor swift, she's just an easy target.


	3. storm's end to king's landing, for real this time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> featuring - car games and lemon cakes and talks about family

Ten minutes was not nearly enough time to settle Arya’s fluttering stomach.

She hung up the phone and just, kind of…stared at it for a second. Like it was somehow responsible for everything that had transpired in the past day. She’d at least _thought_ she was joking when she’d offered up her passenger seat the previous night, but her very…_physical _reaction to Gendry’s breathless acceptance said otherwise.

At this point in her life, she knew the difference between good anxiety and bad anxiety. Good anxiety was when Sansa was in labor with Ember - no health concerns for the mother or the baby, the birth itself was seamless. (She had expected no less from her sister.) Just the thrilling anticipation of welcoming a child into the family. Good anxiety was her making the decision to take this trip in the first place. She knew the risks, listened calmly to almost everyone in her life tell her it was reckless - but made the leap anyway, because she was putting herself first.

Bad anxiety, these days, came when she was alone. Days when she had so much on her plate that she opted to do nothing at all, as if that would make her responsibilities vanish. Days when she couldn’t quite reconcile with what she saw staring back at her in the mirror, no matter how long she tried. It pooled at the pit of her stomach after difficult phone calls with her mother, turning over passive aggressive remarks and forcing her to memorize every single one - it was pushy that way.

This, though…she wasn’t entirely sure that she could even classify this feeling as anxiety. It didn’t create that dull buzz in her head, which usually accompanied the good kind of nerves, and it wasn’t gnawing at her insides like the bad kind did. This one, she felt in her knees, all the way down to her toes. Her palms were clammy. That constant thought in the back of her mind that there was something missing, something waiting for her that she hadn’t yet found, was back - but she was starting to figure out what it might mean.

The sound of Gendry’s, _“Oh. Cool. I’ll wait out front,”_ played on a loop in her head, as she threw the van in drive. It sounded like - maybe - he felt it, too.

____

She couldn’t help the slow, close-mouthed smile from creeping onto her lips, as she turned onto Gendry’s street - Gendry’s _uncles’_ street, rather. It could have been Gendry’s street, if he had wanted it. But he was choosing to travel with her instead. The smile grew wider.

He was sitting on the curb outside the mansion, shoulders hunched over, scrolling absentmindedly on his phone. Arya honked twice to get his attention when she approached, and she giggled to herself at the way his head shot up. A few strands of hair fell into his face at the movement, and he quickly reached up to brush them back. Now bringing the van to a complete stop, Arya was close enough to notice that his hair was wet. He had showered. She found it oddly endearing.

She rolled down the window, as he hoisted his giant backpack onto his shoulders and moved to stow it in the back of the van. He looked on edge.

“Long time, no see, your highness,” Arya poked.

His scowl intensified. “I wish I’d never called you that.”

“You look like an angsty teen running away from home,” she remarked, as he climbed into the seat next to her.

“I feel like one, for fuck’s sake,” he said, shaking his head. He took one final look out the window at the house, already seeming more relaxed, now that he was behind closed doors. “Can’t believe _that_ was meant to be my future.”

“Well, thank gods you had an escape route, huh?”

He whipped his head back toward her, and his features softened at the sincerity peeking through her teasing tone.

“This is crazy, right? You think I’m crazy.”

“I’m the one who offered my passenger seat to a complete stranger,” she shrugged. “I’d say we’re even.”

“So, we’re actually doing this.”

“Not too late to back out,” she smirked, raising her eyebrows and jerking her head toward the house.

He hummed disapprovingly and shook his head some more. “Even if you’d already left, I wouldn’t be setting foot in that house ever again.”

“What _would_ you have done?”

“I don’t know,” he said honestly, studying her curiously. “But, to be honest, I don’t really want to.”

At this, Arya felt her face heat up, and she promptly ducked her head to avoid further embarrassment. She busied herself with fake adjustments to her seat, and she heard him cough. She suddenly realized that this was their first encounter in broad daylight. Maybe the soft haze of the early morning and the pervading darkness of the night had done more than just conceal their expressions. All of this - the tension, the circumstance - felt unavoidable in the harsh light of day. It was a lot like the sun - neither one of them able to look directly at it for too long, but its luster unmistakable.

“Well,” she asserted, clapping her hands together, snapping both of them out of their discomfort. “Let’s go over the road trip rules.”

“You didn’t say anything about rules.”

“I’m running a tight ship here.”

A barely discernible smirk flickered onto his face, and it was gone before Arya could react. “Alright, captain. Let’s hear it.”

“Okay, first of all, now that you’re rich,” she started, pausing to acknowledge Gendry’s eye-roll, “you’re pitching in for gas.”

“That seems reasonable.”

“Second of all, no side-seat driving.”

“Again, fair.”

“And third of all,” Arya said, narrowing her eyes, “no funny business.”

“_Funny_ business?” he sputtered.

“Not twenty-four hours ago, I didn’t even know your name!” she exclaimed. “How do I know this isn’t still an elaborate plan to kill me?”

“And how do I know _you’re_ not planning to murder _me_?”

“Because you’d already be dead,” Arya said with a wink. “Not one for playing the long game.”

Gendry quickly looked her up and down, mulling over her words. “No long game. Got it.”

“So, we’re good?” she confirmed, her voice coming out a bit higher than intended.

“All clear, captain,” he nodded, shifting in his seat in an apparent attempt to get more comfortable.

His chair was still reclined slightly from the night before, so he leaned back against the headrest and released a long exhale. Gendry didn’t strike Arya as someone who was comfortable around…most people. So, she was surprised by how subdued he seemed to become the instant he got settled. She shook her head, shooting him a small smile to indicate that she didn’t _actually_ intend to be a strict co-pilot.

The look he gave her in return indicated that the surprises would keep coming.

____

“So...am I allowed to ask where we’re going?”

“Oh! Yeah, right. Sorry. We should probably talk about that.”

They’d been driving in silence again, save for the low volume of the music, as they reached the city limits of Storm’s End and made their way back up toward the Kingswood. Gendry had convinced her to let him control the tunes, and she’d made fun of him for a solid five minutes when the first song out of his phone was a One Direction throwback.

“I’m a week into my two months,” she explained, “and I really hadn’t planned out my route beyond my first few stops. Just figured I would see where the wind took me and get to the Wall before the start of the last week.” He nodded quietly. “Now, though, we’re heading to King’s Landing.”

At that, he made a noise of pleasant surprise. “I went to uni in King’s Landing. What’s there for you?”

“My sister and my niece,” she answered, a sudden rush of excitement coursing through her, as she was reminded of their impending reunion. She quickly realized, though, that she hadn’t quite thought this part through. “I was planning on staying for about a week. I didn’t expect-“

“Oh, no, don’t worry about me,” Gendry assured, reaching for his phone. “This is kind of perfect. I’ve kept in touch with one of my professors over the years, and he’s said his door is always open. Didn’t actually think I’d ever be back up to the capital ever again, but I know he’d be happy to host me while you visit your family.”

Arya smiled fondly at his tone. She could tell that he was just as excited as his professor would be, even though he was trying to play it off.

“That’s great. Seems like…this time you’re ready to run.”

“What are you-“

“Escape from the city and follow the sun.”

“Oh, fuck right off.”

“_‘Cause I wanna be yours_,” she sang, ignoring the lyrics themselves. “_Don’t you wanna be mine_?”

“You’re the worst.”

“_I don’t wanna get lost in the dark of the night_,” she finished between laughs.

“I might just kill you, after all.”

____

“I guess I should probably tell my family about the new development.”

“Man, you’re really bad at this,” Gendry teased.

She rolled her eyes but bit her lip apprehensively. “I don’t think anyone’s gonna be too thrilled.”

“You don’t seem like someone who cares too much about what other people think.”

Arya laughed. “That,” she said, waving her hand around in an aimless circle in front of her, “is a conversation for a different time.”

He nodded understandingly. “So, how are you gonna do it, then? Send ‘em a picture of me? Go big or go home?”

She smiled deviously. “Actually. This might be fun. Ready for a show?”

____

“Hey, Ar. You on your way?” Sansa asked. Arya had the phone on speaker, pointing it toward the space above the van’s center console.

“Yeah, I’m about four hours out. Just needed to swing by this morning to pick up Gendry.”

“Who’s Gendry?”

“Just a hitchhiker I met last night at a truck stop. He’s gonna come to the Wall with me.”

On the other end, she heard the distinct sound of shattering glass.

“You are not bringing a dirty hitchhiker into my house, Arya,” Sansa declared haughtily. Gendry’s amused expression turned into one of mock-offense, as he gestured up and down at his clearly clean body.

“He’s staying with a friend,” she conciliated, trying to stifle a giggle. “But after that, it’s just us and the open road.”

Sansa sighed. “I’m not sure that this is what Dr. Forel had in mind when he told you to ‘step out of your comfort zone.’”

____

“Arya?” came Jon’s voice over the crackling reception. “Is something wrong? Are you hurt?”

“No, crazy, I’m fine.” Her brother’s protectiveness secretly warmed her heart, but she rolled her eyes dramatically for Gendry’s benefit.

“Then what’s up?”

“Just wanted to tell you ahead of time that I’ll have company when I get up there to see you.”

“Company? Do I know this person?”

“No,” she said nonchalantly. “I barely know him either, really.”

“_Him_?”

“Calm down, he seems harmless enough. I met him yesterday, and I’m still alive.”

“You wh-,” Jon stammered. “Arya, what the fuck is-”

“Great, so I better go! I shouldn’t be talking and driving.”

She ended the call just as Jon’s volume elevated to a near-shout, chuckling to herself. She glanced over at Gendry, who did not seem to find it as funny as she did.

“What is your brother doing at the Wall again?”

“He’s in the military.”

He gulped. “Right.”

____

“Hey, mum,” Arya sang, elongating the vowels in each word and smiling her widest yet. She gave Gendry a knowing glance.

“Hi, sweetheart. Haven’t heard from you in a couple days,” Catelyn said dejectedly. Arya brushed past the typical guilt trip.

“I know, I’m sorry. I’ve been a bit caught up with this hitchhiker I picked up last night. I’ve been catching up on sleep, and he’s taken over some of the driving.”

“I’m sorry, you’re breaking up, dear. It sounded like you said-”

“Oh, my gods, stop!” Arya squealed, winking at a confused Gendry. “Hands to yourself until you can find a place to pull over!”

“ARYA LYANNA-“

She muted the phone over Gendry’s desperate pleas to end the joke. The two broke down into a fit of laughter and listened to her mother’s diatribe for five straight minutes before hanging up.

____

“I love this time of day,” Arya said wistfully, breaking another long spell of silence. They had about two hours still to go, and the sky was just beginning its evening transformation.

“Mm,” Gendry agreed. He seemed distracted.

“Back home, it used to be my favorite thing - sitting out on the back porch and watching the sunset with my dad. My parents have the best view.”

“You never mentioned where you were from,” Gendry realized.

She squirmed in her seat. “North of here.”

He snorted. “Helpful.”

“What’s it like in Blackcrown?” she asked, trying feebly to change the subject.

“Lonely,” he mumbled. Arya’s stomach dropped, as she recalled his desire to distance himself from the place where he grew up.

“But,” he continued, seemingly to assuage the awkward tension, “me and mum liked the sunsets, too. We used to watch them on the beach. Lived right on the Whispering Sound.”

“That sounds lovely,” she said softly.

“She was lovely.”

____

“You must be close with your sister, then.”

Arya laughed in spite of herself. She never blamed anyone for assuming that, based on where she was with Sansa now. She didn’t expect anyone to guess that it had taken them nearly twenty years to work through their issues.

“We’re about as different as the sun and the moon,” she responded. “We were at each other’s throats as kids, but we’re in a great place now.”

“How’d you get past that?” Gendry asked. He hadn’t mentioned siblings of his own, so his curiosity seemed genuine.

“A lot of tears,” she admitted. “And a lot of growth. Our father...” she trailed off with a laugh, “I can hear his words in my head. ‘The same blood flows through both of your hearts. You need her, as she needs you.’ And one day, we just realized that he was right. As always.”

Gendry was quiet for a moment. She looked over to his seat and saw him staring blankly out the window. He must have caught her glance out of the corner of his eye, because he turned to look at her. An empty smile crossed his face.

“You’re lucky.”

It wasn’t the first time she’d heard those words, but it was the first time they resonated.

____

“Is it...bigger than a bread box?”

“Why does everyone ask that during this game? How big even _is_ a bread box?”

“Uh, I ask the questions, captain.”

Arya huffed. “Yes, it’s bigger than a bread box.”

“Smaller than a house?”

“Your range of reference is between a bread box and a _house_? You suck at this game.”

“Answer the damn question.”

“Yes, it’s smaller than a house.”

“Is it alive?”

“It’s lucky to be.”

“Is it _me_?” Gendry shrieked in disbelief.

“There’s nothing else around! We’re in the middle of nowhere!”

“Unbelievable.”

“You’re taking this week to come up with some new car games. I refuse to put up with this shit for a month and a half.”

____

She pulled up to the modest cabin overlooking Blackwater Bay, just as the sun was disappearing over the horizon. Sansa’s house was, conveniently, just fifteen minutes away, and - although she had likely missed dinner, since her sister insisted on eating impossibly early - she was still on track to get there before Ember’s bedtime.

This house was everything the Storm’s End estate was not - chipped paint, a tattered flag blowing in the early evening breeze, unevenly trimmed landscaping. Even so, smoke billowed invitingly from the chimney, and the lights emanating from behind the drawn curtains looked warm. It looked lived-in. And the energy radiating from the passenger seat next to Arya was a complete departure from the last time she dropped Gendry off somewhere.

Behind his gruff exterior, he seemed to foster a sincere appreciation for simplicity - a trait she wasn’t used to finding in people, having grown up in a family of wealth. Her preference for modesty was one of the many things that made her feel so out of place growing up, so at odds with her prim and proper sister, so incompatible with her mother.

She wondered if Gendry sensed that in her, too. If that’s why he was so keen on traveling with her. She suspected so, and it made her feel…a way she’d never quite felt before.

“See you back here in a week, then?” she confirmed, as he gathered his things. It had been only twenty-four hours since their infamous rest stop reunion, and now she felt oddly sad to leave him. Wrapping her head around all of that would have to wait until later.

“Yeah, just text me, I guess. When you land on a day and time and stuff,” he mumbled awkwardly. A white-haired man emerged then from the house and waved enthusiastically from the front porch.

Arya smiled at the way Gendry’s face lit up. Yes, she was glad he was traveling with her, she decided. But she would be just as content, she thought, if their paths diverged here. The current smile on his face might not have made an appearance for a long while, had she not brought him to King’s Landing and away from his stuffy obligations - and, well, depriving the world of that smile would have been a real shame.

“I will. Enjoy your visit,” she said earnestly.

“You, too,” he returned. “And tell your sister I don’t smell.”

“I don’t like to lie, Gendry.”

He flipped her off, much like he had that morning, but with an extra layer of sarcasm. Arya thought they might be friends now.

As quickly as he had turned to walk toward the house, Gendry spun back around to face her and paused on the dirt path.

“You’re not gonna ditch me, are you?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. His tone was sarcastic, but she could tell there was a hint of real concern, real insecurity there. 

“Not my style,” she placated. His posture relaxed, as he continued onward.

____

Her sister was thinner. It was the first thing she’d noticed, as the women fell into a deep embrace in front of the house. Arya had barely made it up the driveway before Sansa came bustling down the steps to greet her. She smelled like lemons. She’d missed her, and she told her so between sniffles.

“I missed you, too,” Sansa whispered, burying her head in the top of Arya’s hair. She felt her breathe in deeply, as her muscles relaxed slightly. Arya wondered when Sansa had last done that.

“Come on, let’s get inside. I was promised a welcoming committee.”

Sansa pulled back and looked at her, unamused. “She’s prepared a song.”

____

“Oh, bravo! Brilliant!” Arya applauded from the doorframe, as her niece took an uncoordinated bow at the top of the stairs. Both of her hosts had ambushed her before she’d even made it into the house. The love she felt was staggering.

“Does Aunt Arya get a proper hug now?” Sansa asked her daughter, a proud smile playing on her lips. She had clearly seen the routine countless times already that day.

“Come here, kiddo,” Arya beckoned, dropping her bag beside her and crouching down before her niece, arms wide open. It was a blur of limbs and matted red hair and dress-up clothes, as the little girl flung herself at her aunt.

“We made lemon cakes!” came Ember’s muffled, delighted voice.

“I’m shocked!” Arya said, sounding far from shocked and glancing up at her sister, who merely shrugged. She placed a firm kiss on the top of her niece’s head and pulled back to look at her.

“Look at you, love. Have you gotten cuter?” she poked, tucking a stray curl behind Ember’s ear.

The little girl, restless in her attempts to control her overflowing energy, simply beamed at her aunt, before grabbing her by the hand. Arya rose to her feet.

“My mum said I could show you my rock collection,” Ember said boldly, beginning to drag Arya toward the stairs.

“Ember, why don’t you let her-“

“It’s alright, Sans,” she assured her sister. She tried to communicate in one meaningful look that she was more than willing to give Sansa the opportunity to rest. That she would be able to breathe, as long as she was there.

“I would _love_ to see your collection,” Arya said, looking back down at her niece. “And I brought some more for you to add to it,” she whispered.

____

“So, when are we addressing the phone call I got earlier?” Sansa inquired, her voice hushed. The sisters laid on their sides facing each other in Sansa’s bed, Ember sleeping soundly between them. It took them nearly an hour to settle her after the excitement of Arya’s gifts, another rousing performance, and the nightly battle over teeth-brushing had died down.

Arya smirked, as she absentmindedly stroked Ember’s hair. “Scare you, did I?”

Sansa sputtered, clearly struggling with keeping her voice low, much to Arya’s amusement. She took a deep, controlled breath. “Please explain.”

“I met him on the night I left Oldtown,” Arya started. She paused, considering whether to tell Sansa the whole truth, that she was accosted by two drunk men mere hours after setting off. It wouldn’t help her argument that this trip was not unsafe. But Sansa was clearly making a concerted effort to be non-judgmental, so Arya decided on full transparency.

“He…” she paused again. Saved her? She never wanted to be someone who used those words. “He helped me out of a bad situation.” Sansa waited calmly for her to elaborate. “He punched a guy in the face, before he had the chance to try something on me,” she spit out quickly, fully comprehending the story’s absurdity.

“Seven hells,” Sansa sighed, shutting her eyes.

“And then he was a complete dick about it!” Arya hissed. Sansa quirked her eyebrow, to which Arya exhaled in resignation. “I may have been a dick, too.”

“So, he’s been with you since that night?” Sansa asked, confused.

“Gods, no. I hoped I would never see him again after that,” Arya lied, thankful for the darkness of the room. “But I ran into him last night, and I agreed to take him to where he needed to go.”

“Why’s he still with you, then?” With that, her sister had vocalized the question that had been swimming in Arya’s head all day.

She shrugged. “Guess he’s as fucked up as I am.”

____

Arya awoke the next morning, and every morning that week, curled up with her family. She always stirred first, her mind never able to keep quiet for long.

She was used to waking up alone, though. Now, she had people to hold onto a bit tighter, lulling her back to sleep for a few more hours.

____

It had taken her over an hour to convince Sansa that she could take the day to herself. Get some errands done, go shopping, see a film. She would take care of everything else - tidying, cooking, and Ember.

Arya stepped out of the guest room that she hadn’t yet slept in, wearing a simple black tank top and jean shorts. She threw a pair of shades on top of her head at the last minute, preparing for the sweltering King’s Landing sun. She opted out of the light makeup she typically wore, knowing that she’d be sweating it all off by the end of the day. She didn’t feel her best, in truth. It was just one of those days.

When she threw open the door, she almost collided with her day’s number one responsibility. Ember stared up at her, grey eyes wide open and shining brightly. She did look a lot like Sansa, like Catelyn - fair skin, auburn hair, already tall for her age. But her eyes were all Stark.

“Wow, Aunt Arya!” her niece shouted. “You’re so pretty, just like me!”

She cried over Ember’s shoulder, because maybe she couldn’t always get it right herself, but she was determined to help that little girl hold onto her confidence. 

____

Arya laughed, as she sat back against the tree. She watched her sister spin Ember around by her wrists, her little legs flying behind her, her ecstatic shrieks echoing across the open field.

Sansa’s pregnancy was perfectly normal - the textbook case of a perfect nine months. Mentally, though, her sister was terrified when she found out she was having a daughter.

~

_“I’m not cut out to be a mother to a little girl, Arya,” _Sansa had worried. _“I’m just like mum. I’m gonna drive her insane.”_

_“You’re right, you probably will,”_ Arya had provided sarcastically. _“But I think you’re supposed to.”_

_“What if I’m not the mother she needs?”_

_“I think you’re both going to be exactly what the other needs. That’s usually how it works.”_

_~_

She watched Sansa scoop up her daughter and make her way back toward the sprawled-out blanket, where the trio had decided to eat a late lunch. Ember’s cheeks were flushed, and she looked at her mother the way Arya looked at the sunset.

Yes, she thought. Her sister was knocking the whole ‘mother to a daughter’ thing out of the park.

____

“And I like Thomas and Ingrid and River. They’re all nice to me,” Ember concluded, wrapping up her longwinded answer to Arya’s teasing question about whether she had a crush on anyone at day camp.

The sisters shared a humored glance, before returning their attention to their dinner plates. Arya felt her phone vibrate in her back pocket, and her stomach flipped when she checked the notification.

** gendry:** arryaaaaa ughjkf

She could suddenly feel her own heartbeat in her chest. Before she could scramble to her feet to excuse herself, she saw an incoming call from the same person.

“I’ll be right back,” she blurted out, stuffing her phone back into her pocket and darting toward the small bathroom around the corner from the dining area, quickly shutting the door behind her.

“Hello?” she answered shakily. “Gendry?”

“I don’t know why I’m calling you!” he slurred, the sound of a bass thumping in the background.

“Well, that answers my first question,” she muttered. “Are you alright?”

“I’m great!” he yelled, a little too enthusiastically. His voice came out at a register she didn’t recognize.

“Are you _drunk_?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m alright, though. Don’t worry. Just out with some old friends from school.”

She found herself smiling - unabashedly so, since he couldn’t see her. The fool had fucking drunk-dialed her. “That’s great, Gendry. I’m glad you’re having fun.”

“Oh, I remembered!” he laughed. “I remembered why I called.”

“Okay, what’s up?”

“I’m glad that you hadn’t left Storm’s End yet! That morning. You know the one.”

She chuckled softly. “Yes, I know the one.” She chanced a look up in the bathroom mirror, and the blush on her cheeks was unmistakable. “Was that all-“

Raucous cheers rang out from the other line, and Gendry hung up abruptly. It took her longer than the phone call itself to get her shit back together enough to return to the dinner table.

____

Arya had Ember in her lap on the morning of her final day in King’s Landing, watching a kids’ television program while she combed through her messy hair. Sansa was in the kitchen loading the dishwasher, still able to see them from across the open-concept layout.

“What’s on the agenda for today, then, ladies?” Sansa called out.

“I have to call Gendry and tell him we’re heading out tomorrow,” Arya said. “After that, I’m down for anything.”

“Why don’t you invite him over for dinner?”

“Invite…Gendry?”

“Yeah, why not?”

There were probably a thousand reasons why not, but she couldn’t seem to think of any.

“Okay, yeah,” she agreed, her heart racing. “I’ll see if he’d be up for it.”

____

The glare of headlights bathed the dim living room later that night where Arya sat flipping channels, as Sansa oversaw Ember’s table-setting. Gendry was here. She snorted at the prospect of a grown man being dropped off for dinner at a friend’s house.

She suddenly felt that not-good, not-bad anxiety flood her senses again. Did she hug him? They still had never really touched. Shake his hand? Definitely not. She didn’t have time to come to a decision, because Ember was barreling out of the dining room at the sound of the doorbell.

“Are you the lady of the house?” she heard Gendry ask cheekily when Ember opened the door.

“Yes,” she responded triumphantly.

“Sorry!” she heard Sansa call out from the kitchen. Arya figured she should probably get off the couch. The sisters converged and entered the foyer at the same time.

“Sorry, I’ve tried telling her that I’m supposed to answer the door, but…” Sansa trailed off, throwing her hands in the air in surrender. She stopped in front of Gendry and held out her hand. “I’m Sansa. You must be Gendry.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” he said a bit timidly, returning her handshake.

Sansa’s eyes lingered on his face, studying him. She narrowed her gaze, before seemingly deciding that whatever she was thinking could be tabled until later. Arya cleared her throat.

“Hey, stranger,” he said, lifting the hand that had shaken Sansa’s in an awkward wave.

“You joke, but we literally are,” she retorted with a shy laugh.

The three adults stood in silence, not seeming to know what to make of the situation, like they hadn’t anticipated this much discomfort. Ember didn’t seem to pick up on the tension. She stood in the center of the throng, a wide smile still plastered on her innocent face. She looked up at Sansa and tugged on her sleeve.

“Can I show him my rock collection, too?” she whispered.

____

“What made you want to study architecture, Gendry?” Sansa asked, somewhere between the salad and the roasted chicken.

He swallowed to avoid talking with his mouth full. “Always been good with my hands, I guess.” Arya blushed at the implication, not totally sure if it was intentional. It seemed to go over her sister’s head.

“I know it doesn’t involve the actual building part, but I still get to help make the world more beautiful. I guess that’s cheesy,” he mumbled.

“It’s not,” Arya quickly piped up. She shot him a reassuring smile from her seat directly across from him. “It’s nice.”

____

“Mummy, can I have some more juice?” Ember asked Sansa. The group had cleared off an entire tray of lemon cakes, and they had just finished wiping away tears of laughter at the three-year-old’s dramatic impression of her camp counselor.

“Of course, sweetling,” Sansa replied, moving to stand up from the table. “Arya, will you give me a hand?”

She rolled her eyes at her sister’s completely unsubtle attempt to get her alone, but she complied anyway. She looked apologetically at Gendry, who waved her off to indicate that he was fine being alone with Ember, who had already launched into her next story, as if she hadn’t just interrupted herself.

Sansa waited until they were in the kitchen before she spoke.

“You failed to mention that he’s handsome.”

“Is he?” Arya asked, aiming for ignorance. “He’s a little broody.”

“This is all making a bit more sense,” Sansa said, waving her hand in a circle above her head.

“Shove off,” Arya said through gritted teeth. That seemed to give Sansa all the confirmation that she sought.

“But don’t you think he looks a little bit like Un-“

“Mum, come quick!” Ember shouted from the dining room. “Gendry can hang a spoon from his nose!”

____

Sansa had disappeared upstairs to find a sweater, leaving Arya alone to start on the dishwasher. Gendry and Ember sat side-by-side on the couch, on the other side of the counter in the living room - following Arya’s insistence that she didn’t need help and Ember’s equally fervent insistence that she show him her favorite movies.

“Are you a dad?” she heard Ember ask him curiously.

She froze over the sink, and her eyes darted up to see Gendry similarly taken aback.

“I’m so sorry,” she said. “She’s been asking every man she sees lately. She asked the teenage cashier yesterday, and he about pissed himself.”

“She’s fine,” he replied, his shock quickly replaced by amusement. “No, I’m not a dad,” he told Ember softly.

“I don’t have a dad anymore.”

His eyes widened inadvertently, and he looked back up at Arya. She saw the comprehension cross his expression, and he took a deep, sympathetic breath. He tentatively reached out toward Ember to squeeze her shoulder, continuing to make eye contact with Arya, as if to ask for permission.

“I don’t have a dad, either,” Gendry finally said.

Ember leaned into his hesitant hold on her shoulder and gave him a full-on hug. “It’s okay,” she told him matter-of-factly.

With her face buried in Gendry’s chest, she completely failed to see the impact of her words.

____

“If you do anything to hurt my sister, I’ll make sure you never walk again. No funny business,” Sansa warned, as the group made their way to the porch to see Gendry off.

“Already got that speech. Don’t worry,” he replied, winking at Arya over her sister’s shoulder.

“Here,” Ember asserted, producing a bright blue rock from the front pocket of her shirt. “You keep this with you for good luck.”

“Thank you, Ember,” he said warmly, accepting the token. “I had so much fun hanging out with you.”

“Next time you come over, me and you and my mum and Aunt Arya can make more lemon cakes, right?”

He looked at Arya, the words ‘next time’ hanging uncomfortably in the air between them. Against all of her sensibilities, she hoped there might be one. She wondered if he did, too.

“Of course, we can,” he assured her. “Thank you for having me,” he said, nodding toward Sansa. He bounded down the porch steps toward the car waiting in the driveway, stopping at the bottom to spin back around to face them again.

“See you bright and early, captain,” Gendry said to Arya with a coy smile, giving a mock-salute. She weakly waved back, as he got in the car. One more night, and then it would be just the two of them - but that was if she survived until then.

Once the car was out of sight, she turned toward Sansa, fully prepared for a snide remark about how obviously flustered she was. Her sister simply smiled at her, shaking her head.

“Oh, man. You’re in trouble.”

____

With promises to call regularly and pick up plenty of gifts at each stop, only a few tears, and one final warning to pass along to Gendry, Arya pulled away from her sister’s house, her heart feeling fit to burst.

When she pulled up to the cabin to pick Gendry up, he was waiting outside for her again - this time looking a lot lighter. He seemed well-rested - a total reversal from the agitation he exuded in Storm’s End - and beckoned her heartily.

“I’m sorry if yesterday was…I don’t know. A bit weird,” she apologized, as he got himself settled in the passenger seat beside her.

He shook his head, as if to reject her apology. “I meant what I said before. You’re lucky. They’re great.”

His smile was honest, but Arya sensed a sadness behind his eyes - like he was mourning the family he never had. Like he was too accustomed to being the one who told other people they were lucky, instead of being the lucky one.

“So, where to next?” he asked, breaking the heavy silence.

She remembered what little he’d told her about his mother - how she taught him to swim in the water behind their house, how they sat together on the shore as adults and had long, meaningful talks. It seemed like all of his fondest memories of her revolved around the same setting.

She gave him a toothy grin, an expression that he instinctively returned, as he anticipated her response.

“How about the beach?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...and now the real road trip starts. buckle up y'all
> 
> (oh, and gendry's old professor is davos, duh)


	4. king's landing to lannisport

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> featuring - campfires and swimming and a whole lot of repression

When Arya was a little girl, running away from home was a common occurrence.

She never made it far, mind you. There was always a staff member or an older sibling or a Siberian Husky lurking somewhere that would betray her attempts at stealth. But the desire to run, to escape expectation - it pervaded every other childhood daydream.

She begrudged that age-old cliché, the one that all of the other rebellious kids leaned on when they lamented that ‘no one understood’ them. Arya had plenty of people in her life who understood her. The problem became when they understood her, knew who she was, and still tried to change her into someone else. Into a version of her that was more convenient for them. It hurt worse than being misunderstood, she thought.

The beginning of her trip across Westeros felt a lot like all of those times growing up, when she would throw some clothes into a bag and see how far she could get on the Winterfell grounds without getting caught. She felt like she was finally giving herself that chance, now - the chance to run away from what was conventional, the chance to be unpredictable, one last time.

How strange, then, that all of a sudden - after just a few instances of being in the right place, at the right moment - it felt like the opposite of running away.

**____**

“Woah, woah, woah. What do you think you’re doing?”

Arya had just rounded the corner on her way out of the snack aisle, mid-thought about how all rest stop convenience stores were laid-out exactly the same, and she nearly ran right into Gendry. A very nonplussed Gendry. She matched his confusion.

“What does it look like I’m doing?”

“Arya. You said you would get dinner for tonight, if I got gas.”

She furrowed her brow and looked at the heap of plastic bags in her arms, gesturing to each one with her head. “Peanut butter-filled pretzels for protein, three different flavors of potato crisps for some starches. _Vegetable_ puffs, _fruit_ snacks, and whole-grain crackers.”

“Please tell me you’re joking.”

“I want to tell you I am, but then you’d lose that fun death glare you’re giving me, and we wouldn’t want that.” The glare sharpened, and she scoffed. “Oh, lighten up! Half the fun of a road trip is living on things that are awful for you.”

“If _that’s _what you plan to feed us this whole time, we won’t be living long at all,” he argued. 

“Gods, didn’t realize I’d picked up the bloody health police,” she grumbled.

“Very original. Go get in the damn van,” he commanded, outstretching his arms to take the loot. Not in the mood to fight, she gave in.

Her diet was piss-poor - had been for years, really, since she’d started struggling with her mental health. She wasn’t sure, at this point, if she was even doing it consciously, eating the way she did (or didn’t, sometimes). It was just usually the easiest thing to neglect when she could barely form a positive thought. It seemed obvious, but she didn’t even typically notice until she was with someone else. The week she’d spent at Sansa’s was the best she’d eaten in months.

She felt kind of guilty for falling right back into those habits now that she was back on the road, even though she had company. She should have been able to step outside of herself for a second and realize that it wasn’t sustainable. But even that remorse - that was her depression talking. Making her feel bad for…making herself feel bad? Making her feel selfish. Making her feel stupid that someone else needed to point it out for her, once again.

Gendry didn’t _need_ to point it out, though, she guessed. He could have gotten his own food and let her self-destruct. He had been gruff with her, but there was a level of care just below the surface that she wasn’t used to seeing from most people - let alone from a stranger. She wasn’t used to feeling this _comfortable_ around strangers, either, but that was a different story. Her brain really needed to take a breather.

She waited idly in the driver’s seat for him to check out at the register, and she watched him make his way back to the van, multiple grocery bags in hand. Were there even actual groceries at these kinds of places? She usually just went straight for the crap.

He threw the back door open and tossed his purchases in with the rest of their things. As he climbed into the seat beside her, mumbling some nonsense about a woman ahead of him in line that paid for her lottery tickets entirely in coins, she snuck a glance back at the food.

All of the snacks she’d picked out were shoved into one bag, and the other two were full of actual substance - bread, real fruit, packages of uncooked hot dogs, cups of dried noodles, cans of soup.

Arya turned to thank him, but he stared pointedly ahead, fiddling aimlessly with the volume on the radio. She turned back to face the road and pulled out of the parking lot, and the unspoken thanks felt like more than enough.

**____**

“Should we address the elephant in the room?”

“I feel like I can barely see you over all these elephants. You need to be more specific.”

“Alright, what’s your master plan for sleeping arrangements?” Gendry challenged. “Seems like sharing your sweet set-up back there would be in direct violation of road trip rule number three.”

Arya opened her mouth to reply, quickly closing it again. She hadn’t actually thought about that. (Surprising, since everything else up to this point had been _so_ methodically planned and accounted for.)

“I mean, you could…it’s, I mean, there’s probably-“

He laughed, cutting off her stammering. “Calm down, captain. I’m kidding.”

“Well, what’s _your_ plan, then?” she snapped, hoping desperately that he didn’t notice her blush. Judging by the continued laughter, her hopes were quickly dashed.

“You said you’re gonna find campgrounds to pull into, right? I have a sleeping bag. I’ll rough it outside.”

She tore her focus off of the road for a split second to shoot him an incredulous stare. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

He still had a smile on his face, and he continued to look her over, amused. Clearly, he was enjoying this. “Where did you think I was sleeping before?”

“That’s not…” she trailed off, exhaling sharply. “I’m not gonna make you sleep outside.”

He kept his eyes on her for a beat longer, before shifting to face the passenger side door. He pressed the button on the armrest to roll the window down, swiftly turning his back to the open air and maneuvering his top half out of the van.

“Gendry, what the fuck! Are you insane?!” Arya yelled, loudly enough for him to hear her, despite the loud wind now pouring into the moving car. He was almost fully standing, his torso bent slightly backward and his hands gripping the top of the door. She saw one hand disappear and heard it definitively tap the top of the van.

“This’ll work!” he shouted, his voice drowned out by the wind. He swung back into the van, cheeks rosy and hair pointing in a hundred directions, and closed the window. He looked a little too pleased with himself.

“Don’t do that again.”

“You’re no fun.”

“I’m _extremely_ fun, smart ass.” He rolled his eyes. “What do you mean, ‘this’ll work?’” she asked.

“The top’s got guardrails, and it looks long enough to fit me. Problem solved.”

“And that discovery couldn’t have waited until we stopped again?”

“It could have, but then you’d lose that fun death glare you’re giving me, and we wouldn’t want that,” he said mockingly.

**____**

Three hours into the drive, a sudden reminder to check the radio for the afternoon baseball scores caused the pair to discover their mutual love for the Harrenhal Giants.

“You know, you could’ve opened with that on night one, and we would’ve avoided a whole lot of drama.”

“I usually try to avoid wearing my Whent jersey when I’m anywhere near Oldtown, so I can avoid outright violence, but…I guess that night was gonna get physical either way, huh?”

Gendry looked away sheepishly.

**____**

“Hey, do you mind if I nod off for a bit?”

“No, go for it. I was gonna suggest stopping to eat in about an hour.” Gendry nodded silently and shimmied down in his seat, so his head was resting against the bottom of the window.

“Could you switch off the music, then? And put on my audiobook?” Arya requested.

“Sure, no problem,” he agreed, reaching for her phone in the center console. “What’s the book?”

She became defensive, accustomed to having to argue about the subject matter. “It’s about the congressional midterm elections last year. What they mean for the future of the Progressive Party. They were a huge win, you know, for women, for minorities-“

“Didn’t a documentary just come out about some of the women who ran? I’ve been meaning to watch that.” He plugged in her phone and turned the volume up slightly. “Actually, mind if I listen with you?”

**____**

Six hours outside of King’s Landing, almost squarely at the halfway point between there and the western shore, Arya pulled off of the Gold Road in search of a place to stop for a quick dinner. The westerlands’ prominent mountain range towered ahead, and small tributaries from the Blackwater Rush ran parallel to the quiet side roads.

These small towns always had a campsite, the perfect snares for wayward travelers like them, and she expertly followed the faded street signs until she found one.

“It’ll be dark soon. Did you wanna keep driving tonight, or should we finish out in the morning?” she asked, pulling into a grassy spot off of the dirt path. They’d come to a clearing - before them, a small lake, the perfect canvas for the reflection of the impending sunset. The cover provided by the trees overhead made it seem later in the evening than it actually was.

“I know you _love_ driving at night,” Gendry said sarcastically, “but why don’t we call it for today? I’m dying for a hot dog.”

“I’ll pass on the cold sausage, thanks,” she said, as they both hopped down from their respective seats onto the forest floor below. She stretched her arms languidly toward the sky, and she heard Gendry snort from the other side of the van.

“We can cook the sausages, genius.” He appeared around the front of the car, already cradling several branches of varying size. “I’m good with fire.”

**____**

“I actually do love driving at night,” Arya affirmed, wiping her mouth clean after shoveling down her second frank.

They’d fashioned somewhat of a fire pit - a slow-crackling pile of sticks in the center, two bigger logs at the edge that they’d hauled over from a few yards away. _Arya_, rather, had organized the setting, while Gendry built the fire itself. He stoked it periodically while they ate. They sat next to, rather than across from, each other - both wanting to face outward, toward the still water.

His mouth was full, so he glanced over at her silently, prompting her to continue.

“Every summer, my family would drive all the way down to Riverrun to visit my grandfather. It was, like, a thousand miles or something. And we’d mostly split it over a few days, but it was always my dad that did the driving. He liked to knock out most of it at night, so us kids and my mum could sleep and not have to be too bored in the car during the day.”

She reached for a napkin under the stone they’d commissioned as a paperweight. “When I got older, sleep got…harder. So, I usually stayed awake, too,” she explained.

“That was nice of you,” Gendry replied, mid-chew. She was taken aback for a second - having difficulty sleeping was never really something she could control, but she supposed her father probably did enjoy the company, all the same.

“Yeah, I don’t know,” she said, brushing off his comment. “I guess I just started to prefer night drives after that. Everything’s better at night, honestly. The daytime is so…bright and loud. I don’t like it.”

He laughed at that. “You sound like a baby animal.”

“Watch it,” she warned jokingly, wagging her index finger in his direction. They were entering territory that she hardly ever broached with anyone, aside from her therapist. She went for another hot dog.

“Seems like long drives are in your blood, then. I take it, this whole…” he trailed off, gesturing ambiguously between them. “No one was surprised by this.”

“Not surprised, no,” she said with a wan smile.

Gendry studied her. “Not thrilled, either, though,” he offered.

She inhaled deeply, exhaled sharply. She could feel herself getting defensive again. “I’m so conditioned to feel bad and dramatic for complaining about family shit. My parents are still together, I have an education, I have enough good siblings to balance out the ones that...weren’t so good. And even the not good ones are fine now. You met Sansa.”

“So…what? That means you can’t have feelings?”

She looked down at her feet. Kicked a pebble into the fire.

“Look,” he started. He finished his hot dog and cleared his throat, pivoting slightly on his log to angle himself toward her. She was still facing the lake. “I lived twenty-eight years without family shit. My mum…she let me feel how I felt and never made me apologize for it. A lot of anger for not having a father, a lot of frustration in general.”

“You rubbing it in?” she asked with a smirk, turning to face him for the first time since the start of the conversation.

“I just think you can have all the family in the world, but none of it means anything if you can’t be who you are.”

She whistled, long and slow. “Wow. Architect, or motivational speaker?”

He sighed dispiritedly, shaking his head. “You’re really not good at accepting support, are you?”

She paused and let out a similar breath. “No. I’m not.”

“Well,” he said, shifting again and brushing crumbs off of his pant leg, “in my experience, friends are supposed to offer support. So...there it is. If you want it.”

It was the first time either of them had acknowledged the other as something besides a stranger. He sounded awkward, almost. Like he didn’t have a lot of practice making those kinds of assertions. It was sort of sweet.

He looked like he was preparing himself to hear a joke when he finally met her eyes again. If Arya was honest, she was prepared to make one. Instead, she just smiled, and he smiled back.

**____**

They stayed there for hours, long after the color had drained from the sky, talking about everything and nothing. Arya always thought that phrase made no sense, but now she got it.

**____**

“Are you sure? I can just recline in the driver’s seat, and you can take the back.”

Gendry rolled onto his side to face her where she stood next to the van. He had to prop himself up to see her fully, since the top of her head only reached the middle of the windows.

“I’ll live,” he assured her. “If I need help, I’ll just bang on the roof.”

“Scare the shit out of me like that in the middle of the night, and you’ll need even more help,” Arya threatened.

He chuckled, rolling onto his back again and tucking an arm under his head. “Enjoy your night in the boring van. I’ll try not to toss and turn too much.”

She smacked a fist abruptly onto the space by his left ear, and he yelped. She retreated triumphantly.

“Is it breaking rule number three if I tell you I had a nice time today?” he asked, as she opened the side door. They couldn’t see each other anymore.

“I’ll allow it,” she replied.

She heard, rather than saw, him shuffle around a bit more, presumably trying to get more comfortable. He was being ridiculous, insisting on sleeping up there. She couldn’t claim to know him that well yet, but from what she could tell, he seemed pretty stubborn.

“Goodnight, captain.”

Although he couldn’t see her, she still shook her head.

“Goodnight, Gendry.”

**____**

They were driving too fast and the music was too loud and it was way too early for any of that, but neither of them cared.

She’d awoken that morning and sat up amidst her blankets, peering out the window to see Gendry already moving about outside. He was clearing away the ashen brush, catching a napkin they’d missed the night before and crumpling it in his hand to toss in the garbage.

He was also notably lacking a shirt.

She’d made an exaggerated exit from the opposite side of the van, the sound of her movements causing him to jog back toward his sleeping bag and throw the garment back over his head.

She’d been flustered, but the way he asked her how she slept made her _more_ flustered, and she repressed all of it, opting to joke about his bedhead instead.

She’d thought he was checking her out while she folded up her comforter, but she turned around, and he was only looking at his phone.

The landscape took on a hyperrealism in the tender hours of the morning. Usually, once the sun got going, it rose fairly quickly. Before that, though, it was like all of nature hung in a delicate balance. Arya and Gendry danced around each other on that first morning, their first _real_ morning together, in much the same way.

Once the sun got going, though, so did they. They could revisit that delicate balance tomorrow.

**____**

“I just realized we’re driving nearly twelve hours to the best beach in Westeros, and I don’t even have a bathing suit.”

“Gendry!” Arya admonished. “We could’ve stopped at the mall before we left King’s Landing.”

“Malls are the worst, so thank gods I didn’t remember, then,” he muttered.

“Lannisport has a brand-new plaza, I’m pretty sure. We can stop when we get there,” Arya said, brushing past his grumbling.

He pointed to the approaching road sign. _Deep Den - 30 km. _“Just pull off here. I’ll find something.”

She teased him for his assumption that he would find summer swim trunks in a place called Deep Den, but she already knew she’d take the detour anyway.

**____**

“Arya, do I look like I would wear swim shorts with flamingos on them?” he asked in feigned indignation, as they wandered the aisle. He grabbed a campy sunhat off of a rack and placed it on her head.

“Hey, you might,” she said, throwing her hands up in mock defense. She saw sunglasses with pineapple-shaped lenses and shoved them onto his face.

Luckily, there was a waterfall at the edge of Deep Den, so the small souvenir shop in town had a range of suitable, albeit eclectic, bathing suits. Arya grabbed three different pairs of trunks off the rack they had initially passed, in the size that Gendry had indicated, and held them up in front of him.

“It’s flamingos, sunflowers, or…bulls, for some reason. Take your pick.”

He took a long, contemplative breath and sized up his options. She was vaguely amused that he would rather do this than brave a shopping mall for fifteen minutes to find a suit in a regular, solid color.

“I’ll go with the bulls.”

She paid for the trunks and for the six cheap accessories they’d wordlessly picked up along the way.

**____**

“This is really cool of you, by the way,” Gendry mused, looking out the window, instead of at her. “I haven’t been to a proper beach since…”

Arya didn’t know what to say for a moment, so she hummed in understanding. Then, she remembered what he had told her. About friends offering support.

“What happened? If you don’t mind my asking.”

He was silent, and she thought briefly that she’d overstepped. But he cleared his throat and started.

“Lymphoma. Caught it a bit too late.”

“That’s awful. I can’t...that’s awful. I’m sorry.”

She saw his jaw tighten out of the corner of her eye. “I get sad, but I mostly just feel so angry about all of it. Like we had so little, and she still gave so much, and _that’s_ how she was repaid for it."

“It’s not fair,” she agreed softly.

“Do you ever feel like…no, never mind,” he decided.

“Whatever it is, I’m sure I’ve felt it,” she offered with a light laugh.

He cleared his throat again. “Do you ever feel like you get one perfect thing in life, and that’s it? Like…I don’t know.” He sighed. “Like, once it’s gone, the universe couldn’t possibly be that kind to you again.”

“All the time,” she assured him. “You should give the universe more credit, though. It never fails to surprise me.”

Gendry didn’t have a response, but she could tell he was turning her words over in his head. One of his hands was hanging limply in the space between the gear shift and the center console. Without taking her eyes off of the road, she reached over and squeezed it, returning just as quickly to the steering wheel.

“What about your sister? How did she lose her husband?” he asked, his voice clearer.

“Drunk driver.”

He made a noise of disgust, laughed emptily. “That’s fucked.”

“Tell me about it.”

**____**

Harrenhal clinched the series by the skin of their teeth in the bottom of the ninth that evening. Arya and Gendry both screamed obnoxiously and split a bag of cool ranch crisps.

**____**

They rolled all of the windows down when the mountains were behind them, because it meant the beach was close. The air had a slight chill, but it smelled salty and weirdly nostalgic.

Any coastal campground was bound to be crowded this time of year, and the one they decided on was no exception. Several families milled about, a group of teenagers had monopolized the sand volleyball court. Arya and Gendry checked in at the ranger’s station and parked a few spots down from a massive trailer that put the van to shame.

The site sat a few yards back from the shore, and Gendry wandered off toward the water shortly after their arrival. It seemed like he wanted to be alone, so Arya hung back.

She opted to spend the sunset curled up in the back of the van with her laptop. She’d miraculously been able to connect to a hotspot, so she put on a mindless television show and decided she’d find the outdoor showers after one or two episodes.

She didn’t realize she had dozed off until she heard a knock on the window above her head. Sitting up and squinting, giving her eyes a second to adjust to the darkness, she saw Gendry peering in. She slid open the door, immediately drawing one of her blankets around her shoulders to guard against the evening breeze and moving to sit up straighter.

“Sorry for waking you. I thought you might want dinner before it got too late,” he said. It was still quite dark, so she wasn’t entirely sure, but it looked like he’d been crying. She decided not to bring it up.

“Yeah, for sure,” she nodded, reaching behind her into one of her bags for a sweater. She slipped on her sandals and hopped out of the van, stretching her legs. “I saw a café when we were driving in. I don’t think it’s that far of a walk. My treat.”

**____**

Gendry might not have had a bathing suit before recently, but Arya had packed several. She was thanking all of the gods that one of them was a one-piece, because - shocker - she had not anticipated this scenario.

Any urgency that he had emanated that first morning in his scramble to get his shirt back on was gone now. Swimming was different than just walking around and cleaning up the campsite, apparently. She didn’t see how being shirtless _and_ wet was better than just being shirtless, but…whatever.

As she was with most things in her life, Arya was picky when it came to finding people attractive. Usually, she never even developed feelings for someone until she learned that they had feelings for her, however self-centered and detached that was. She could recognize when someone was objectively good-looking - she wasn’t blind, after all. But those stomach-churning, full-body tingles were rare.

Rare, but _very_ much happening now, because Gendry had a fucking eight-pack, and she didn’t even know that was possible.

She sat now - laid, actually - on her towel, pineapple-shaped glasses on at Gendry’s behest, trying to convince herself that her attraction was purely visceral. There was no way it could be deeper. They were solidly friends, sure, but they still barely knew each other.

(But, they did, though. Even after such a short time, he felt familiar. Like falling back into an old habit. Like returning home after being away for years. Like finally going back to the beach.)

He emerged from a particularly rough wave and tossed his head back, shaking sand out of his hair. It was curling slightly from the salt. He turned to look back at Arya and gave her a cheesy, double thumbs up.

She had the glasses on, so she could have pretended she was sleeping. Instead, she shook her head and returned the gesture. He had known she was watching him, even if her eyes were shielded. The thought of that, and the fact that he seemed happy about it, sent another flood of vibrations up her center, across her shoulders.

He turned back toward the water, and she lolled her head back. They’d decided to spend four or five days in Lannisport, but if every day included this, she’d need a bit more bloody strength.

**____**

“The girl in the red bikini top,” Arya said, pointing to a group near the water. “She’s here with that douchey-looking guy in the backwards hat. _But_ she’s lusting after _that_ girl over there.”

“The one with the pink hair? Oh, no question,” Gendry agreed. He reached between their towels for another handful of popcorn. “How ‘bout this guy?” he asked, subtly identifying an older man that had just entered their line of sight.

Arya studied him, as he passed directly in front of them and continued down the beach. “On a business trip, but this is his off day. He’s looking for a hook-up.”

“Is everyone on this beach full of lecherous tendencies?”

“No. _That_ woman,” she specified, gesturing to their far left, “is here because her partner was like, ‘I’ll look after the kids today, honey. Just treat yourself.’ She probably won’t move from that chair all day.”

“Those two kids that just ran by escaped from their summer camp group. No one’s noticed they’re gone yet,” Gendry added.

“Nice one. Good for them.”

“What do you suppose people think we’re all about?”

Arya laughed. “There’s no way anyone could guess.”

**____**

She woke up one afternoon with half of her body buried in the sand and Gendry, conveniently, nowhere to be found. She rinsed off in the ocean, and he pretended - poorly - not to know what she was talking about when he came back a half hour later with more snacks.

**____**

They spent each day doing essentially the same things - enjoying the sun, occasionally taking dips in the ocean. (They never swam together, though. That remained obvious and unspoken.) They ate dinner with each other but typically separated afterwards for a few hours. Arya had never been one for itineraries, and she was thankful that Gendry was similarly wired.

She always waited for those moments alone to check in with her family. She knew Gendry wouldn’t mind if she were to talk to them around him, but she still felt the urge to keep the conversations private. Maybe she still felt self-conscious, in a way. To have so many people to call, when she hadn’t seen him talking on the phone once that entire week.

**____**

She sat on a boulder a few paces away from the van and called her sister one night. Gendry had meandered away to walk along the water.

“You were right. I’m in trouble,” Arya said when Sansa answered.

Her sister laughed melodically. “Oh, sweet baby. Tell me everything.”

“There’s nothing to tell!” she exclaimed. “That’s the problem!”

“Do you _want_ there to be something to tell?”

“I don’t know. I feel insane.”

“You know he feels the same way, right?”

“No, he doesn’t,” Arya scoffed.

“Does, too.”

“_Sansa_.”

“Well, explain your feelings. Talk me through this,” she prodded gently.

Arya groaned. “I can’t really explain it. I…like him, but it’s more than that, I think.”

“You _lov_-“

“Gods, no, not like that!” she quickly amended. “I mean, like…it makes sense. Having him around makes sense.”

“Could it just be the setting? You’re not really...you’re both kind of floating outside of the real world at the moment.”

“I thought about that. Like, I don’t even know his fucking last name, and I’m pretty sure I haven’t mentioned mine. But, I just...I don’t know. It works.”

“Try not to overthink it, love. Don’t forget why you’re doing this in the first place. Just enjoy it,” Sansa advised. “Besides. I _told_ you he’s handsome.”

She groaned again, louder this time, and threw her head back. “He’s so handsome,” she whined. “Seriously, Sansa, you should see-“

“Arya?”

She jumped and felt the blood drain from her face, as she saw Gendry approaching tentatively from her left. There were still a few yards between them, and he didn’t appear to have heard anything. It seemed like he could barely see her from behind the shadows cast by the trees overhead. 

“I have to go, bye,” she quickly spit out, hanging up before Sansa could reciprocate. “Hey,” she greeted him, as casually as she could muster. She cursed silently at how breathy her voice sounded.

“Hey,” he replied, stepping forward more confidently. “If you’d rather hang back some more, that’s cool. I just overheard those obnoxious kids from earlier talking about setting off fireworks down the beach. Thought it might be fun to watch. From a safe distance.”

She grinned, her embarrassment quickly dissipating. “I’ll grab the popcorn.”

**____**

They decided on one more full day in Lannisport, and, on the morning of their last day, Arya got the sudden compulsion for a bath. She was staying as clean as she could, but the campground showers still left much to be desired. She didn’t often feel such a strong urge to pamper herself, but the seafront air was starting to overpower the smell of her shampoo.

Gendry read her mind, as they tossed away their plastic cups from breakfast.

“There was a hotel a little bit down the road that I saw earlier this week, on our way in. Why don’t I get us two rooms for the night, so we can freshen up properly?”

It sounded too good to even make a joke about whether that was his subtle way of telling her she smelled.

“That sounds like heaven.”

**____**

They stopped at a pharmacy after checking out of the campground, and Arya bought every lavender-scented bath product she could find. Gendry bought one bottle of body wash, but she didn’t catch the label.

(She sat in the bath later that night for nearly an hour and tried desperately to think anything else but him in the next room. She wondered if he was having the same problem.)

**____**

She was flipping channels aimlessly on the hotel television when she heard a knock at her door. She traipsed over to the door, her body still pleasantly warm from her bath, and opened it to find Gendry standing in the hallway.

He scratched the back of his neck. “I know it’s getting sort of late, but I was gonna see if you wanted to watch that political documentary and order room service.”

(She was proud of how quickly she quelled the flutters in her stomach - a reaction to the fact that he’d literally, somehow, described her dream date.)

“Room service?” she smirked, stepping aside to silently invite him into her room. “What are you, rich or something?”

He snorted. “Or something.”

“Make yourself comfortable. I’ll grab the menu.”

She eyed him in amusement, watched him hesitate before sitting back against the headboard of her bed. She tossed him the laminated amenities folder and hopped up next to him.

“I’m good with whatever you wanna get, as long as there’s some of that fried asparagus involved,” she said. She got comfortable on the opposite end of the bed, setting up her laptop in the empty space between them.

“Gods, you can’t even do healthy food right.”

“Shut up.”

He ordered two helpings.

**____**

Once the food arrived, they played the movie and fell into a comfortable lull. Arya was relieved that Gendry wasn’t a movie-talker, but he still made a few meaningful side comments - political analysis and appropriate outrage that she’d only ever heard from Bran. They paused it a handful of times to talk about certain bits in more depth. It made her smile every time.

She reached forward to pause it again after a particularly rousing talking head interview, and when she turned to face him, he had fallen asleep. He was on his back, still a healthy distance away from her on the other end of the mattress, and his arms were crossed over his broad chest. His head was turned toward her, toward the computer screen, and the awkward angle made his cheeks scrunch on top of the pillow. His mouth was open slightly, his lips pursed.

Gods help her. He looked adorable.

She checked the time, and it was nearly midnight. The only light in the room at that point came from the lamp on the table next to her side of the bed, and she could feel her own eyes starting to droop, as well. She could have easily woken him - his room was right next door. But the bed was big enough, and they were getting an early start anyway, and surely if he had wanted to leave, he would have said something when he started getting tired.

She reached over to the switch and extinguished the last of the room’s light. Trying not to jostle the bed too much, she turned on her side, facing away from him, and shuffled slightly between two pillows. She heard Gendry stir behind her, and he snorted groggily.

“‘Night, captain,” he muttered, his voice raspy from sleep.

Maybe it would be weird in the morning, or maybe it wouldn’t. But it seemed like a risk both of them were willing to take.

“‘Night, Gendry,” she replied with a whisper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (everyone go watch 'knock down the house' on netflix, if you haven't already)


	5. lannisport to riverrun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> featuring - rainstorms and almosts and the little things

Unless she was taking a mid-day nap, Arya hardly ever needed to set an alarm to ensure she woke up on time.

For so long, her overactive brain had never allowed her more than a few hours of reprieve, before waking her up with a start. When she was a kid, she was always the last one to trudge downstairs for breakfast - often more like lunch - much to her mother’s constant irritation. Now, she always found herself lying wide-awake in bed, long before the light had the chance to seep in from between the cracks in her blinds, willing herself to breathe evenly.

She constantly went to bed freezing - she didn’t know why. Maybe she hoped her multiple layers would just swallow her up - or, at least, guard against the heavy weight that typically tore her out of sleep. No matter what, though, an uncomfortable heat always accompanied that heavy weight, forcing her to remove a garment or two and extract herself from her comforter. Waking up, alone and anxious and debilitated - it happened every day, without fail. At this point, she had her coping techniques committed to memory, but it still didn’t make mornings any easier.

This morning, though. Still awake before the sun. Still a heaviness - pressed now, curiously, on the curve of her hip, rather than her chest. Still a heat, but, _oh._ Not an uncomfortable one.

Slowly, Arya cracked one eye open, followed by the other, and took a moment to adjust to the dimness. She faced something warm and solid, her nose nearly brushing up against it, and she guessed momentarily that she had rolled toward the wall in the middle of the night, but no - the bed was in the middle of the room.

And, besides. The mass was moving.

It was moving, _breathing_, undisturbed breaths that indicated sleep. She leaned her head back marginally, and the weight around her waist tightened. Both of her hands were curled under her chin, and they came out instinctively to rest over the source of the breathing. Her touch made the breathing more pronounced, more conscious. More awake.

“Morning,” came a whisper from somewhere above her head. Tilting back a bit further, she was met with a similarly dazed Gendry. Despite the uncharted proximity, neither of them moved to separate.

“Morning,” she whispered back. He blinked slowly, his lips curling lazily into a tired smile.

“This was much better than the top of the van,” he rasped sarcastically. Any minute now, she would roll over. Or he would. One of them surely would.

“I’m flattered that I’m more comfortable than cold metal,” she teased. He traced tantalizing circles on the small of her back. She gripped the soft fabric of his shirt.

Inhaling slowly and closing his eyes, Gendry pressed his face in the top of her head. “You smell good,” he mumbled. She was surprised she hadn’t bruised him with how hard her heart was beating against him.

“It’s amazing what one bath can do,” she murmured, her breath hitching in her throat when she felt a nearly imperceptible kiss in her hair. He drew her closer, back so that her nose just scraped the space below his collarbone. If she smelled good, he smelled fucking exhilarating.

“We should get a move on, captain,” he said, lips still pressed against her skin. The vibrations from his words, the teasing term of endearment - it all made her tingle.

“Call me Arya,” she implored softly. She gave him an equally feather-light kiss on his sternum. “Please.” She felt him smile.

“Arya,” he whispered reverently. Another kiss, and her breathing quickened. She closed her eyes and felt him shift lower, kissing slowly down the side of her face and reaching the shell of her ear. “Arya,” he said again, a bit more of his voice escaping this time, and _shit_, he would be the death of her.

She angled back again, found his face level with hers, his eyes drunk with devotion. He was close enough to kiss her, to absolutely ruin her, and she was close enough to let him. They both leaned in, their noses bumping, and, “_Arya,_” he urged, right against her lips, but louder this time, too loud to make sense in the delicacy of the moment, and she felt dizzy, and-

“Arya!”

Her eyes snapped open, and she banged her head against something hard in her scramble to sit up. She rubbed the spot where there was sure to be a bump later, quickly registered that she was moving, and looked to where she had been leaning - the door of the van.

“Sorry. You were…whimpering. I thought you were having a bad dream or something.” Gendry. Gendry was next to her, and he was driving, and they had been…_so _close.

“Yeah, no, thanks,” she said quickly, still massaging her head. “Sorry for freaking you out. Just a bad dream,” she lied.

____

They’d woken up on their respective sides of the bed, on top of the comforter, facing each other. It hadn’t necessarily been weird, but the tension had been thick, but he’d smiled shyly, so she knew they were gonna be alright.

She’d mentioned that her neck hurt, probably from sleeping on it funny, and he’d offered to drive for the day. They didn’t have a destination in mind - were just planning to drive along the coast and stop where they stopped.

He’d grabbed some muffins and bagels and other breakfast non-perishables from the lobby while she’d showered, and she’d asked if he minded her trying to get another hour or two of sleep. He’d put on a ‘Dreamy Vibes’ playlist on Spotify, and she’d fallen asleep to his low hums.

____

_Excerpt from iMessage group: Keeping Up with the Starks_

**rickon: **proof of life! go

**sansa:** me & the kid both say sup

**robb: **me & the unborn kid both say sup

**sansa:** what is your gf, chopped liver?

**robb:** she is asleep, therefore incapable of saying sup

**sansa: **but the baby can’t - you know what, nvm

**jon:** hello, it me. defending our border

**rickon:** the fact that someone that uses “hello, it me” is defending our border…does not comfort me!

**jon:** fuck u

where is arya

she’s the only one we actually need proof of life from tbh

**bran:** arya is just fine. currently passing through casterly rock

**sansa:** you talked to her? i tried calling and she didn’t answer, little brat

**bran:** i haven’t talked to her since monday

**robb:** bran why are u like this

**arya: **the concern is sweet, i am alive and well. love u all

except u sansa, u can choke. like i would ever screen ur calls

**rickon:** good so the hitchhiker didn’t kidnap you and ship you to dorne

**arya:** negative. was just napping

**jon:** i am still very against this, for the record. but glad you’re safe and having fun

**robb:** ...the WHO?

____

“How should I know? All three involve you getting suspended from primary school. I feel like that’s the main takeaway here.”

“Yeah, but which one _doesn’t_ sound like something I would do?”

“Alright, I…don’t think you had a physical hit list at the age of twelve.”

“You would be incorrect. I one-hundred percent did, and I don’t regret it.”

“Bloody hells, Arya.”

“Your turn,” she said, sounding proud of herself.

“Right.” Gendry was silent for a full minute, as he considered his options. “I won a talent show in Year 5 with a Dusty Springfield medley, because that was practically all my mum listened to.”

“Way too specific to be a lie, and, also, I’m dying,” Arya cut in.

He continued with a lopsided smile, eyes never leaving the road in front of him. “I’ve seen all of the Harry Potter movies. And…I’ve never had a relationship longer than a year.” Her head whipped toward him - she wasn’t expecting the game to take that kind of turn. Neither of them had ever acknowledged anything in the realm of ‘relationships’ before. She could swear the tips of his ears were red.

“That last one can’t be true,” she faltered, sure now that her cheeks matched his ears.

“Better believe it,” he said with a laugh and a hint of dejection.

“How is that possible?”

He shrugged, like the answer was obvious. Like he had made his peace with _exactly_ how it was possible. “I’m a mess. Always fucked it up.”

She wanted to tell him that he wasn’t a mess - or maybe that he _was_, but that everyone was, and that he was a rather beautiful one. She wanted to tell him that when a relationship doesn’t work out, it’s for a reason, and maybe he had made mistakes, but that she hoped he didn’t think himself unworthy of love, because _look_ at him - had she mentioned that he was beautiful?

But he was shifting in his seat, and he looked uncomfortable. Like he regretted the words as soon as he said them. So, she changed the subject.

“You _haven’t_ seen all of the Harry Potter movies, then? That’s a pretty lame lie.”

“Haven’t seen any of them, actually.”

Once again, she turned to gape at him. “I can’t believe I let you in my car.”

____

They’d only been driving for three hours, but they’d stopped five times.

Arya had only been this far west once - on a family vacation to a Faircastle resort, the summer after Robb’s first year of uni. She remembered sulking the whole week, because Sansa had brought her boyfriend, and his stares always lasted a little too long. Jon had decided to stay at home with his girlfriend, and her father was too preoccupied with making sure Rickon stayed out of trouble, and she’d wound up spending most of the trip fighting with her mother, as always. 

She could hardly be blamed, then, for begging Gendry to pull over whenever she saw a photo opportunity, an opportunity for a moment worth capturing. She was grateful for the chance to experience this adventure as a passenger - she couldn’t shake the thought of how much she might have missed, had she not taken on the company. (How much of the ocean view, how much of everything else.)

Gendry seemed all too happy to oblige each time, happy to take in the scenery along with her. (Happy to prolong the trip just a bit longer, she hoped.)

On their fifth diversion, a small overlook midway down the peninsula they were traversing, Arya was attempting to capture the twentieth angle of the sprawling field of wildflowers below, when Gendry pointed him out.

“Should we help this guy?” he asked. She heard the smirk in his voice, so she abandoned her shot and followed his eyes across the freeway. A man walked along the edge of the road, toward the direction from which they’d just come, and he carried a massive backpack.

“Are you nuts?” she laughed, shaking her head.

He raised an eyebrow at her reproach. “_Me_? I think the evidence is much more stacked against _you_, captain.”

“I thought we were past this,” she said, turning back toward the scenery and repositioning her phone to take the picture. “Besides, I only picked you up for the money.”

“You picked me up before the money.”

“Semantics,” she muttered, changing her angle.

“Think he’ll get to where he needs to go?” Gendry mused, watching as the figure became smaller and smaller, as it continued to fade from their view.

She turned around and took him in. He was leaning against the side of the van, his focus still on the other side of the road. She could hardly recognize the man she’d met nearly three weeks prior - the furrow of his brow was still unmistakable, but she’d learned quickly that it could lend itself just as readily to curiosity as it could to irritation. She was grateful to have helped incite more of the former since that first night.

“People typically do,” Arya replied. She took one last snapshot of the landscape and moved to return to the van. Gendry still had his back against the vehicle, right against the passenger side door, and she stopped right in front of him. Only then did he look down at her in return.

“I’m really glad we met,” she said plainly. She was still holding back a lot, but she wanted him to know that much.

His lips parted in surprise, clearly not expecting such an honest declaration. The surprise quickly morphed into something like relief. He reached out a fist to lightly bump her shoulder, wrapping his hand around it when his knuckles made contact. He squeezed lightly, rubbed a few quick strokes on her arm with his thumb. The persisting softness from someone she knew to be so hardened - it nearly knocked her out.

“I’m really glad we met, too.”

Below them, the waves crashed mercilessly against the rocks.

____

Feastfires was hardly a town - Arya was fairly certain no one actually lived there. It sat right on the tip of the peninsula, served some of the most breathtaking views of the Sunset Sea that she’d ever seen, and touted one looming, old lighthouse as its sole claim to fame. It was nearly desolate, but it was like an eerie postcard, and they were sold.

Starting a fire for dinner was challenging - ironic, considering where they were. The winds at this juncture of the shore were strong, not quite at a level that either of them would classify as cold, but just harsh enough to be inconvenient. They ate quickly - both out of necessity and out of keenness to explore the coast before it got too dark.

They both tossed on an extra layer and headed for the sand. They’d parked right at the entrance to a private beach, the lighthouse towering a few hundred yards in the distance. As they maneuvered around the dunes to stroll along the water, Gendry fully invested in telling Arya about the first and only time he’d ever smoked weed, she realized it was the first time they’d ever…just walked together. Everything they did in the other’s company was typically stationary - eating, people-watching, photographing the scenery. Even when they were driving, they were sitting still. This - the act of _moving_ together - felt, strangely, more intimate than anything they’d done before.

“How much will you give me to climb that?” Gendry asked, as they approached the base of the lighthouse.

“Absolutely no money, but maybe a solid flick behind the ear,” Arya responded. He looked at her in silent question. “My little brother fell off the side of our house when he was a kid. He’s been in a wheelchair ever since.”

“Fuck,” he breathed. “You really weren’t joking when you said ‘family shit.’”

“Yep,” she confirmed with a sigh. “Perfect older brother, perfect older sister, and two little brothers - one handicapped and one an absolute terror.”

“Ahhh,” Gendry sang in understanding, moving to sit in the sand next to the tall structure. “I’ve heard rumors about this before.” He plopped down and patted the spot beside him. “You’ve got middle kid syndrome.”

She scoffed and sat down. “If you really wanna boil all of my childhood trauma down to pseudoscience, then, yes. I have middle kid syndrome.”

“What about your other brother? The one we’re going to see?” he asked, putting jokes aside. “You don’t seem to have any baggage with that one.”

“Jon is my best friend,” she said, lost suddenly in a flood of memories. “I mean, we’re all adults now, and I wouldn’t trade any of my siblings for the world. But, me and Jon…it’s always been me and Jon.”

“What made him so different?”

_So much._ “He was the only one that saw me.” She winced at her own words and looked at Gendry, who kept his eyes on the water before them. “That’s pretty dramatic, sorry.”

At that, he turned to face her, his brow furrowed again in that familiar way. “Stop saying that, will you?” he scolded her. “We’re banning the word ‘dramatic.’ Road trip rule number four.”

“When did you get the authority to add to the rulebook?” she joked, bumping his shoulder with hers. Had she really sat this close to him, or had he moved closer without her noticing?

“I’ve officially driven one leg of the trip,” he smirked. “I think that means I can add any rule I want now.”

“Do I have to call you ‘captain,’ too?” she teased. He’d definitely inched closer - or maybe she had. Maybe they both were.

“Call me anything you want,” he said softly.

A gust of wind rolled in from behind Arya, blowing loose tendrils of hair from her braid and smacking her in the face. She lifted one hand from the sand to try brushing them away, but Gendry was quicker - he brought a hand to her cheek, gently unobstructed her vision. He seemed shocked by his own action but made no move to pull back, tucking each flyaway behind her ear with precision, his eyes roaming over her face, pointedly avoiding her own.

He secured the last strand of hair in place, and his hand fell from her ear to rest on the nape of her neck. Slowly, his eyes met hers, his fingers playing absentmindedly with the clasp of her necklace.

“You know,” she said, unable to stop her eyes from fluttering shut, as he inadvertently tickled her skin, “as co-captain, you can repeal rules, too.”

“That so?” he murmured, his strokes on the back of her neck becoming more pronounced. “If that’s the case, I have some notes about your driving.”

She rolled her eyes, leaned in ever so slightly. “I’d love to hear them,” she whispered.

His eyes twinkled, because obviously he’d been waiting for a cue - a cue that he wasn’t misinterpreting this. An imperfect, insecure soul who was so afraid, _too_ afraid, of being hurt. Someone so used to having nearly no one, that he wouldn’t dream of making the first move, if there were even the smallest chance of being pushed away. (Like she could ever.)

She watched his eyes droop closed and felt the sharp breath from his nose, and she knew she looked _insane_, but she kept her eyes open like a thirteen-year-old, because she’d be damned if she missed a single second of this. (_An opportunity for a moment worth capturing._)

His lips curled slightly when he felt her get closer, felt her get so close that she could see every last freckle that dusted the bridge of his nose. She wanted to trace over them with her fingertips, but that could wait, because their lips were touching, so faintly, like they both feared they might break the other.

But just as they made to solidify contact, a car turned onto the path behind them, a pair of blinding headlights forcing them to jump apart to shield their eyes. It pulled away as quickly as it had passed, likely just turning around to go back the way it came, leaving Arya and Gendry distinctly without that same option.

____

They walked together to where they’d parked before. The conversation still flowed, but their hands brushed a few times, and that delicate balance from their first morning was back.

They slept apart again.

____

“Are you gonna get that?”

Arya was back in the driver’s seat the next morning. Their moment from the night before remained untouched in favor of a car karaoke session to the greatest hits of the late nineties.

The first time his phone rang, it caught both of them off-guard. They were using it for the music, so the call interrupted the song, and he’d scrambled for it in confusion, because…well.

It was an unknown number, so he declined it, but five minutes later, right before the key change in Bring It All Back, the same mystery dialer tried again.

“I’ll just let it go to voicemail,” he said, holding the phone again and staring curiously at the screen. “It’s probably some lawyer or another long-lost relative or something. Dead parents, you know.” He raised the phone like he was making a toast.

“Wouldn’t that be kind of important?”

“You would think,” he laughed bitterly. “I’m sure some cousin wants a crack at the old inheritance. They can leave a message if it’s such an emergency.”

She didn’t want to push, so the music went back on, even when the inevitable notification popped up, indicating one unheard voicemail. She also didn’t want to mention that it likely wasn’t a lawyer or a cousin or anybody else of the sort, because she’d recognized the area code.

Winterfell.

____

There was no excuse, really, for the fact that she hadn’t mentioned where she was from. It was a pretty innocuous fact, in the grand scheme of things. She guessed that at first, it had started as some kind of backwards safety precaution - like, you can pick up any random stranger you want, but if you don’t tell them where you’re from, you’ll be fine, right?

But then he had gone from a random stranger to Gendry - to Gendry, who yelled just as many profanities at the sports announcers on the radio as she did, who was never too far behind her when they stopped in an unfamiliar place. Who pointed out constellations when they stayed seated around the fire well past sunset, who had patiently allowed her niece to perform the same song for him five times in a row, meeting her with the same rapturous applause every time. Who saw through her bullshit. Who’d almost bloody _kissed_ her and was still trying not to step out of line.

In Arya’s experience, conversations about Winterfell always turned into conversations about being a Stark, and that wasn’t just a name - it was a _name._ A name she loved and embodied and would protect to the ends of the earth, but a name that made up a lot of people’s minds about her. A name that, in her head, cheapened her struggles. Untethered as she was now, she guessed she’d started to like being able to pour her heart out without it hanging over her head. Part of her, most of her, knew that Gendry wouldn’t care. But that didn’t stop the other part from being scared.

(And if, by not telling him where she was from, she could also achieve some self-preservation, could somehow maintain the illusion that this thing they had going wouldn’t have to come to an end because of distance, because he might not know where he was going, but surely he wouldn’t want to settle down that far north - if she could achieve that, stay comfortably nestled in this alternate reality, then that was just a lucky bonus.)

____

Ashemark wasn’t as quaint as Feastfires, but Gendry had spotted a sign for a burger joint, and _holy_ fuck, that sounded incredible.

They must have been quite a sight, the pair of them - parking the van in the lot among a cluster of much smaller vehicles, both sporting that thin layer of sweat that only six hours in the car could cause. Arya’s hair had been fully pulled back when they set out in the morning, but half of it was out of the rubber band by now. Even in the heat, Gendry still wore a pair of dirty hiking boots, the only footwear he had with him, despite her persistent requests to just let her buy him a damn pair of sandals. He’d shaved back at the hotel in Lannisport, but a light dusting of stubble was reappearing along his jawline. They looked like proper road trippers.

A pair of younger girls, probably in their late teens, was entering the restaurant just ahead of them. One of them unknowingly dropped her credit card on the concrete, as she reached out to open the door.

“Oy!” Gendry yelled, jogging ahead to pick up the card and return it to the girl. His back was to Arya, but she caught the girl’s face when she retrieved her card, and Arya rolled her eyes so far back in her head, she was sure they’d get stuck there. The girl blinked wordlessly at Gendry for several seconds, before turning back to her friend and rushing into the restaurant, both of them giggling breathlessly.

Gendry stood by the door and waited for Arya, his bottom lip jutting out in confusion. “A bit weird, no?”

She was smirking as she approached, but her smile grew wider, and she shook her head. He really didn’t know. “A bit weird, yeah. Let’s go eat, stupid.”

____

Gendry had pressured her into showing him videos of Ember’s second birthday party, when Arya and Sansa had dressed up as Elsa and Anna to perform several poorly coordinated duets for an entire room of toddlers. He was laughing so hard that milkshake was nearly coming out of his nose, and the restaurant was sort of dim, but Arya hardly noticed, because she’d never met someone whose smile _literally_ lit up a room.

“Fuck, that’s funny,” he said, trying to catch his breath and wiping tears from his eyes. He blinked a few times to reorient himself, catching a glimpse of something over Arya’s shoulder that made her turn to investigate for herself.

The girls from before.

“What do they want? Why do they keep looking at me?” he asked, genuinely unaware and genuinely irritated.

Arya snorted. “A real mystery, Gendry.”

“What? What, do they…think I’m cute or something?”

She barked out a laugh. “Yeah. Just cute,” she said sarcastically. He threw her a mock scowl and fiddled with his straw wrapper. “Come on, that can’t be the first time you’ve ever caught a girl staring at you.”

He shrugged. “I don’t usually pay attention to that stuff,” he said honestly. His head was bent down, but he glanced briefly up at Arya under his eyelashes. “Do _you_ think I’m cute?”

Arya smiled, reaching for a fry to hide how she automatically shifted in her seat. “Yeah,” she said. “Just cute.”

“Hmm,” he exhaled, seemingly satisfied to have learned that. “I’ve never caught you staring at me before.”

She slowed her chewing and swallowed her food dramatically. “Thought you don’t usually pay attention to that stuff.”

He nodded his head, studying her. She went for another fry.

____

They decided to take the next day off from driving to explore Ashemark. They hiked to the top of a massive hill and only bickered once, about whether or not moss grew on the north sides of the trees.

She let him catch her staring when they watched the sun go down.

____

The exclamation from on top of the van was what initially woke her in the middle of the night. Only then did she register the steady stream of raindrops flowing down the sides of the windows. The fool was finally being forced out of his dumb sleeping spot. It was about time.

She felt the van shake, presumably as Gendry scrambled off the top, and he appeared at the back door, knocking relentlessly. Smiling in satisfaction, she crawled to the window.

“Need something?” she yelled, loud enough for him to hear her over the rain.

“Let me in, Arya! This isn’t funny!” From this new vantage point, she noticed that the rain was not as heavy as she’d thought. He was hardly _soaked_, but he looked just wet enough to be uncomfortable.

“For someone who banned the word ‘dramatic,’ you’re being awfully dramatic!” she shouted. “What’s a little rain?”

“You know you’re not locked in there right?” he screamed. “I’m just being polite! Don’t make me drag your ass out here!”

She rolled her eyes and opened the door, laughing as he tumbled inside, tossing his damp sleeping bag into the corner in a crumpled heap.

“Welcome to my humble abode,” she said, gesturing in front of her.

It was quite a comfortable set-up, if Arya did say so herself. Each night, she pushed Gendry’s backpack and her two duffel bags to the side of the empty space, in order to make room for her makeshift bed. She padded the floor of the van with a duvet and typically burrowed under four smaller blankets. She only had two pillows, but she usually bundled up a couple of sweatshirts to make herself more comfortable.

She’d also been guilty of leaning against Gendry’s bag, but he didn’t need to know that.

“Like what you’ve done with the place. Very minimalist,” he laughed, still a bit out of breath from being caught outside. He shook out his hair, a few droplets of rainwater spraying Arya and the surrounding blankets, and he laughed even more at her look of disdain.

“It’s no bed of steel, but it gets the job done,” she said through a yawn, making her way back toward her nest of blankets. “Change your shirt and get comfortable, so I can go back to sleep.”

“Trying to get me to undress, are we?” he teased, already rummaging through his backpack.

“Yes, Gendry,” she sighed, her eyes already starting to feel heavy again. There was nothing she loved more than to be lulled to sleep by the sound of rain. “I personally put in a request with Mother Nature to orchestrate this rainstorm, in the middle of the night, all so you would undress for me.”

She heard him snort, and she cracked one eye open, watching as he swiftly threw off his wet garment and replaced it with a dry one. It was dark enough that he couldn’t see her staring, but she had a feeling he knew she was anyway.

“Seems like there would’ve been an easier way, but whatever,” he mumbled, wriggling into the empty space behind her. She smiled in amusement, as she listened to him get comfortable - the big oaf. He even made a wide space like this one seem cramped.

It was silent for a few minutes, and Arya finally felt herself start to surrender to sleep once again. She hadn’t felt any movement behind her, so she assumed that Gendry had already knocked out - making the next words he spoke a complete shock to her system. He had a way of doing that.

“Even in the middle of the night…like, after being startled and just waking up and stuff,” he started, pausing a beat before continuing. “You still look gorgeous.”

She was too far gone to really spring awake, but she felt a definite flutter in the pit of her stomach, all the same. “What are you on about?” she mumbled, feigning annoyance.

“I just feel like…you don’t know you’re beautiful. So, just wanted to tell you.”

Eyes closed, her back still facing him, she laughed groggily. “Gendry. Did you just quote One Direction?”

“Take the bloody compliment,” he grumbled. It sounded like he was just as close to drifting off as she was.

“I’m too tired to smack you, but imagine me smacking you,” she said, barely opening her mouth.

He shifted, then, in his position - judging by the distance of his voice, his back now faced hers. She heard him take one last deep breath and imagined that, despite the banter, his face looked a lot like hers at the moment.

“Goodnight, Arya.”

____

They still woke up with their backs facing each other, unattached - for the most part. Arya’s bare feet, typically two icicles in the morning, were curled behind her, sandwiched between Gendry’s. His socks were woolen and soft, and how did she always put on so many layers but _always_ forget to put on socks before bed?

She carefully extracted herself from his warmth, and she watched him wake up slowly. She rubbed her eyes and felt her hair, a matted mess on top of her head, but remembered - _beautiful._ He’d called her beautiful.

He draped his sleeping bag and damp shirt over the top of the van to dry, crawling immediately back inside. She convinced him to let them eat snacks for breakfast, and she fished out a dumb stoner film that Rickon had insisted on sending her before she set off on her trip, and they watched the whole thing on her laptop. When the sun had finally reached the top of the sky, they decided to leave Ashemark behind for good.

Because they’d been waking so early and going so far, and they had so much farther to go, but a slow start - a slow start felt right.

____

“Any hidden talents?”

“I can make my tongue into a four-leafed clover.”

“That’s, like, the most generic answer to that question you could’ve possibly said.”

“Do you not believe me?”

“I do,” Arya said, exasperated at the deliberate conversation about the abilities of Gendry’s tongue. “I just want a real answer.”

“Fine.” He considered the question for a few moments. “I don’t know. I’m good at fixing stuff.”

“Fixing stuff?”

“Yeah, like, bikes and cars and household machines and stuff.”

“So, you can design things and fix things. What about the building part?”

“I’m good at that, too,” he said humbly.

“Really are good with your hands, hm?” she joked with a wink, a callback to his comment during dinner at her sister's.

“Ahh, at least someone got my innuendo, then.”

“Ember’s a little young for innuendos.”

“And Sansa?”

“Was it intended for Sansa?”

He shrugged. “Might’ve been.”

“You drive me mad, you know that?”

“What about you, captain? Any hidden talents?”

“I can do a backflip with no hands.”

“Woah, no shit? Pull over. I wanna see.”

____

They were getting ready to stop again for the night, having just driven under the ‘Welcome to Riverrun’ sign, and Arya pulled into a gas station, so they could fill up and restock on soup. She hopped down from the driver’s seat, stretching her limbs in every direction and cracking several joints, wandering toward the store while Gendry stayed at the pump. They’d talked for almost the entire six hours that day, so she hadn’t heard any notifications come through on her phone. Her heart clenched when she saw that she had two missed calls from her mother.

Truth be told, she hadn’t been doing very well at touching base with the Stark matriarch. Catelyn ‘wasn’t a texter,’ so the family group chat - much tamer than the one with just the siblings - had never been enough for her to get updates on any of her children. She’d always required phone calls - something that Arya was typically good at it, except when it came to her mum. Somehow, they always ended poorly.

“Hey, sorry, my phone wasn’t handy today. I didn’t mean to miss you,” Arya said quickly, when her mother answered.

“It’s fine, dear,” Catelyn said, a bit coolly - a tone with which Arya was all too familiar. There was thick silence before she finally broke the tension.

“We’re in Riverrun,” she offered in a feeble attempt to turn the conversation around. “I’m really excited to be back. It’s been forever.” She resented how desperate her voice sounded.

“Your sister tells me you’re getting awfully comfortable with this man, Arya,” her mother said, completely rejecting her pleasantries and - clearly - getting straight to the point.

Arya sighed. “_I_ told you that, mum. I told you a few days ago that I feel comfortable around him and that we’re getting along well. That’s all. Stop trying to pit Sansa and me against each other."

“We agreed to let you take this trip, because you said you needed time to yourself,” Catelyn said, her voice low. “What part of traipsing across the country with a stranger is ‘taking time for yourself’?”

“First of all, ‘_let_’ me?” Arya bit back, her voice rising. She had stopped just outside the front door of the shop, and she caught Gendry’s head shoot up in the distance. She looked away. “I’m a grown woman. You didn’t _let_ me do anything.”

“We-“

“And second of all, what would _you_ know about taking time for yourself?” she continued, unable to stop herself. “Did you literally call me just to argue?”

“Your father and I are just disappointed. This is not the behavior of someone who’s about to start a professional career.”

“Bull_shit_, dad’s disappointed,” she argued. “Stop trying to isolate me from everyone in this fucking family.”

“Watch your mouth, Arya.”

“I mean, really, you’re unbelievable,” she said, laughing manically, throwing her arm in the air for good measure. Gendry was definitely staring now, but she lowered her voice, so he couldn’t hear her. “Something that has absolutely nothing to do with you, and it _still_ doesn’t meet your impossible standards.”

“I’m not isolating you from _this family_,” Catelyn said, seething, spitting the last two words back at her daughter like venom. “You do an excellent job of that yourself.”

“What part of me _moving back home_ do you consider isolation? Please enlighten me.”

“It just feels an awful lot like you’re doing everything you can to waste your time until you have to come back. If you really wanted to be here, you would be here already.”

“_Waste my time_?”

“Your brothers miss you. Your father and I miss you. Maybe you need to step back and think about someone other than yourself, for a change,” Catelyn suggested haughtily.

“Am I not properly taking time for myself, or am I thinking of no one _but_ myself? Fucking pick one.”

“_Arya_, lang-“

“I really can’t do this with you anymore today, mum. I’ll talk to you later,” she said monotonously, hanging up the call before her mother could deign to respond.

And so it always went. She never knew which Catelyn she was getting on any given day - today, she’d been in rare form. She didn’t know how, but her mother always seemed to sense when Arya was starting to feel alright - and it was always then that she would strike. She was pissed at herself, as she felt the recognizable sting of tears forming in her eyes, effectively clouding her vision where she stood, still just outside the store.

Gendry still stood in the distance, surveying her from afar, so she quickly wiped her eyes and went inside to complete their shopping. She’d be fine - she always was. But the words would stick.

They always did.

____

“What’s the password?”

(She’d wandered the aisles for a little longer than necessary, doing her best to remind herself that she _wasn’t_ wasting her time. Self-care _wasn’t_ selfish. She loved her family. She was a good person.

She’d left the store twenty minutes later to Gendry waiting patiently in the driver’s seat. She knew she looked somber, but something else in her expression must have betrayed her desire not to talk about her heated phone call, because his face quickly shifted from concern to determination.

Determination to make her feel better, apparently. Not an easy feat after a Catelyn Stark emotional takedown.)

“You’re very annoying.”

“Sorry, response rejected.” He put the car in drive and started to pull away at a decent speed.

“Gendry!” she shrieked, running after him. He slammed on the brakes and waited for her to reach the window again.

“Two more chances before you’re locked out of your account for thirty minutes.”

“Seriously, quit it. These bags are heavy.” She was trying hard to maintain a scowl, she really was. It was quickly becoming a challenge.

He made an extremely unflattering buzzer noise and started to drive away again.

“Idiot,” she muttered, smiling in spite of herself and walking at a normal pace in the direction of the van. Her smile grew when the vehicle slowed down.

“Last chance!” he yelled, as she approached. He looked adorably smug.

“Password,” she said, stopping in front of the open window.

His eyes lit up, and his grin took over his face. “Thank gods,” he exhaled. “Thought I was gonna have to leave you in the dust.”

“You would never,” she said over her shoulder, walking in front of the van to move to the passenger side. She was surprised by her own confidence, but her stomach flipped when she settled beside him and caught his intent gaze.

It was full of wonder and a touch of sadness but mostly something else, something that threatened to turn her whole world upside down - even more than he had already.

____

What was left of her self-deprecation from her phone call with Catelyn completely disintegrated in the short time it took to get to the campground in Riverrun where they’d spend the next three or four days. The air smelled musty and earthy, a little bit like rain and a whole lot like her childhood.

(They say smells are the biggest catalysts for nostalgia, but she had to give all of the credit to her passenger for making her feel like a kid again.)

____

She hadn’t fished since she was thirteen, but it was like riding a bike. She taught Gendry, and she hated herself for doing that cliché, _fully_ transparent move of standing behind someone, your hands on theirs, as you guide them through the motions, when, really, it’s a shit excuse to get close enough to feel them shiver.

He did shiver, though, so she couldn’t hate herself that much.

____

Though the air smelled of it, there hadn’t actually been any rain since that night in Ashemark.

But they’d stopped at a corner store in the heart of Riverrun on the morning of their first full day and bought six low-budget films on DVD. They watched two a night during their stay, in the comfort of the van, and fell asleep side by side every time.

____

Arya didn’t know whose idea it was, but by the third round of beers, she supposed it was irrelevant. Either she or Gendry had wordlessly ambled toward the neon lights outside of The Drunken Fish, and the other had followed without question. They chalked it up to wanting to celebrate nearly reaching the halfway point of their trip to the Wall, but they both just really needed a damn drink.

They’d decided to hit the road the next morning, and they’d secured the last room at an inn down the street, so they could properly bathe again. It had two beds, so they’d both been comfortable with the arrangement, but it really just meant they could keep avoiding the conversation they both knew needed to happen sooner or later. The delicate balance had become palpable.

The warmth that she typically felt around Gendry, the one she’d grown exhausted from trying to deny, pooled more firmly in the bottom of her stomach with each swig, and she was starting to think this might not have been a good idea, pre-aforementioned necessary conversation. But he _had_ to keep making her laugh, and he _had_ to glare daggers through the man that tried to buy her a shot, and he had to keep making her wonder if it wasn’t actually the _best_ idea they’d ever had.

“We should toast to something,” she blurted out. They had moved from the bar top to a small booth in the corner of the pub, and Gendry had just closed out the tab.

“Yes! A toast!” he responded emphatically. She recognized his tone from the last time he’d been drunk - when he’d called her to tell her he was grateful she hadn’t left Storm’s End. She flushed at the memory.

“Cheers to making it almost halfway across Westeros,” she said, raising her glass.

“Cheers to punching sexual harassers in the face,” he offered, grinning devilishly at her eye roll.

“Cheers to the Giants for being number one in the division!” They both whooped at that one.

“Cheers to…I don’t know, really shitty Riverlands ale.”

“Cheers to Dusty Springfield and the ballad you still owe me.” Gendry shook his head rapidly.

“Cheers to you, for taking a chance on me,” he said definitively.

“That’s cheesy. I like that,” Arya approved. “To taking more chances.” They clinked their bottles.

____

The morning light felt different when they woke up - like they’d both finally dropped all pretenses. So much fear and so much uncertainty still permeated their space, and so many words still needed to be said, but something had shifted when they slept that night in the inn. Somehow, waking up to the sight of Gendry in the next bed made him feel farther than when he’d slept on top of the van, when she couldn’t see him at all.

They would talk when they were ready, she knew that much. But it was the way he had her clothes folded on the foot of the bed when she got out of the shower, the way she queued up the podcast they’d fallen asleep talking about when he was checking out at the counter, the way he ran ahead of her to the passenger side door and beckoned for her to climb into the seat - the little things served as perfect placeholders until they could find the right words.

“I thought I was driving today,” Arya said, amused at how excited he was to get back on the road.

“You thought wrong,” he replied, tossing their bags into the back of the van. She waited until he was settled in the driver’s seat to inquire further.

“We never talked about where we wanted to go next. Are we just gonna keep following the River Road, then?”

“Nope,” he said with a pop, putting the key in the ignition.

“You have something in mind.” It was a statement, not a question.

“I do,” he smiled.

“Do I get to know?” she asked. She kicked her feet up on the dashboard, already prepared to make herself comfortable.

“Do you trust me?”

“Seriously?” she asked, rolling her eyes.

“Do you?”

She couldn’t suppress the grin that spread across her features. “Inexplicably, yes. I trust you.”

“Right, then,” he said with a nod. “Let’s go?”

“Let’s go,” she laughed.

“Let’s go…” Gendry trailed off, waiting for her to complete the sentence.

It took her a minute, but she eventually understood. He noticed the realization cross her face and smiled expectantly. “Don’t make me say it.”

“Oh, you gotta say it.”

“I don’t, actually.”

“We’ll sit here all day until you say it.”

She’d do anything with him, if it meant ‘all day.’ She’d go anywhere, do anything - including sit in a parked van, unmoving. But,_‘to taking more chances.’ _Arya shook her head and shimmied further down in her seat, and in that moment, he knew he’d won.

“Let’s go, captain.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (would love to know if anyone can guess the little detour gendry has planned)
> 
> a massive thank you to everyone who has shown appreciation for this story so far. it means the world 🖤


	6. riverrun to acorn hall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> featuring - tree climbing and coin flipping and slow dancing

“Are we there yet?”

“Considering we left twenty-five minutes ago, no.”

“Just checking.” She’d turned the volume down on the podcast they were listening to, but she made no move to turn it back up. A few short beats of silence passed.

“What about now?”

“You’re enjoying yourself, aren’t you?”

“Not my fault you didn’t take advantage of the ultimate road trip passenger privilege while you had the chance.”

“And what would that be?”

“The ‘are we there yet’ privilege. Duh.”

“Right. How shortsighted of me.”

“Glad you agree,” Arya said with a satisfied smile. The volume remained low, and she exhaled vocally, as she turned her head to stare out the window. When no response came from the driver’s seat, she let out a louder, more dramatic exhale.

“Arya.”

“Yes?”

“You doing alright over there?”

“I’m fine. Why do you ask?” she breathed in mock innocence.

Gendry laughed and shook his head, bowing it slightly, keeping his eyes on the road. “You’re not a fan of surprises, are you?”

She fidgeted in her seat. She hadn’t expected him to cut right to the heart of the matter in mere seconds, but she also had barely noticed she was exuding any anxiety at all.

Truthfully, he was right - Arya hated surprises.

Most were fine, and she recognized that. This one, wherever they were headed - this one would be more than fine, she was sure. But the handful of less than fine ones she’d dealt with in her life had made her wary of the general concept. She resented that her gut reaction to a situation like this - where this unexpected force of good in her life was asking for her trust, accepting it with grace, putting his own self-doubt aside to make a meaningful gesture - was to fidget in her bloody seat.

She’d been quiet for too long, she guessed, because he spoke again - this time, with a hint of worry.

“I can tell you where we’re going, if that would make you feel better. I just thought-“

“No!” she interrupted him. “No, don’t tell me. I’m…” she paused, quelling her instinct to apologize for her anxiety. “I’m trying to get better. With surprises, I mean.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, concern still evident in his voice.

“I’m sure,” she nodded, moving to rest her elbow on the center console, cradling her head in her hand. The action brought her closer to Gendry, and she still wasn’t totally relaxed, but he propped his elbow up next to hers, and - okay. She felt like she was going to be okay.

The podcast continued for another few minutes before either of them spoke again.

“Are we-“

“Thirty more minutes,” Gendry answered swiftly. 

____

They had turned onto a narrow stone road in the woods, and Arya still had no clue where they were headed, but her mind was elsewhere, as she silenced the day’s fourth incoming call from her mother.

Gendry seemed increasingly intent on locating something, indicating that they were almost there, but he eyed her curiously when she huffed back in her seat. She remembered the scene she caused in the parking lot of the convenience store, and she grew warm at the memory of how he had silently taken it upon himself to help her forget her troubles. She knew she didn’t owe him an explanation, but something about being granted the space to decide for herself whether she _wanted_ to explain - oddly enough, it made her more inclined to do just that.

“Later,” she said quietly, looking squarely at him. The day was still young, so the sun had yet to reach its apex in the sky, and the morning glow made the blue in the corner of his eye gleam as he blinked, waiting for her to continue. “I want to talk about it. All of it,” she explained. “Just…later.”

Without tearing his attention from the road, he lifted his elbow to bring his hand up, wrapping it gently around her wrist - the closest he could get to her hand, since it was still holding her head up. He squeezed lightly before letting go.

“I’ll listen.”

____

Arya was fourteen when she first felt depressed - when her relationship with Catelyn started to sour, when the comparisons and resentment between her and Sansa started to increase. The first time that, despite all of those changes, she felt like she had no discernible reason to feel sad. The first time she felt scared that there was something wrong with her.

She was sixteen when she tried to talk to her mother about it, only to be met with an exasperated eye roll and a flippant request that she please make her bed before Mycah came to pick her up. She was sixteen when, the very next night, she cried into Jon’s lap while he played with her hair - the first person to really hear her. She was sixteen when Bran fell.

She was nineteen when she entered her first and only serious relationship. It lasted two years, and he had been all well and good, but she could barely be emotionally available to herself, let alone to a whole other person. She was nineteen when she and Sansa started to put their differences aside, both with a few years away from home and a lot more self-awareness under their belts. She was nineteen the first time Jon was deployed.

She was twenty-one, and then she was twenty-two, and she had cut her parents off for a full year. Her mother had broken her heart one too many times, and her father hadn’t been able to make it stop. He was supposed to be able to fix everything. She was twenty-two when she started school at Oldtown, when she started to pursue her passion. She was twenty-two when her niece was born. She was twenty-two the last time she had seen Jon.

The number of people who had been willing to listen had fluctuated over the years. Jon was always constant, but even he had left. (Just left. Not left _her_, she often needed to remind herself.) Even when therapy started helping and relationships were mended, her low moments still made her forget all of the good. The walls she’d built were made of the strong stuff - more than a decade in the making.

____

She was twenty-five when she finally decided to lay down her trowel and cement, ready to dedicate her time to helping other people do the same. She was twenty-five when her brother-in-law passed away, when Rickon had purchased a plane ticket to visit her at school when she didn’t go home for the holidays, because he was fighting with their parents - when people really started to lean on her, a skill she’d never quite mastered.

But she was twenty-five, a passenger in her own car, when she started to learn.

____

Gendry finally put the van in park next to the base of a hill, lined with knotted tree stumps. Arya was still confused, but she couldn’t help but mirror the quiet excitement she saw on his face, as they both stepped onto the grass. She stretched, waiting for him to round the front of the van to stand next to her and looking up at him expectantly.

“Alright,” she said, tossing her arms up and letting them fall limply to her sides. “What am I looking at?”

“This way,” he directed with a nod of his head, leading her to the entrance of a clearing behind her. Her palm itched, and she vaguely wished he would’ve grabbed her hand instead.

But the tingling in her hand quickly morphed into a full-body sensation, as they stepped between two patches of brush and into the small grove. Briefly, Arya thought she might be dreaming.

They were small compared to the ones in the North, but there was no mistaking them - standing before them were three weirwood trees, sticking out proudly against the surrounding greenery.

“That’s impossible,” she muttered, more to herself than to Gendry, stepping forward tentatively and furrowing her brow.

Hundreds of backyard camping nights, climbing excursions with Bran before he was hurt, quiet morning walks with her father - they all flashed in her mind, behind her eyes, as she closed them and paused where she stood. She took a deep breath and inhaled the stony smell that only came from weirwoods - it was a sort of terrible smell, honestly, but it only ever brought a smile to her face. One of the only consistently positive fixtures of Winterfell, of her childhood, and it was fully embracing her, the crimson canopy of the leaves overhead covering her like a warm blanket, and Gendry-

Her eyes flew open, and she spun on her heels, swaying slightly from the aftershocks of her reverie. Gendry hadn’t followed her, opting to let her have her moment. He was bashfully kicking a rogue stone in the dirt, but his eyes were straight ahead, watching her fondly.

“How is this…how do you…” she trailed off. One thing at a time. “Weirwoods don’t exist outside of the North.”

“They don’t,” he responded quickly, his embarrassment endearing. “Or, I mean, they didn’t. They used to grow around here quite a lot. Those stumps,” he gestured in the direction from which they’d come, “they were weirwoods. But I was reading about some conservancy or another, and they’ve been trying to rehabilitate them in different parts of the Riverlands, and I noticed that we were kinda close to this place, so I thought…"

Suddenly, she was standing right in front of him, having unwittingly moved toward him while he spoke. The air between them was charged - not unlike it typically was, but with an added intensity, as Arya’s mind raced with an explanation for how this person before her could know her so well.

“How did you know?” she asked, a small laugh escaping from her lips. “We’ve never talked about…there’s no way you could know.”

Gendry reached a hand out and delicately lifted the charm on her necklace - the one that hung just below the curve of her collarbones, the one she never took off. The small, sterling silver weirwood tree, speckled with even smaller rubies.

“You play with it a lot when you’re quiet,” he said, still turning it over between his fingers. “You never look sad, though. Just like you’re…remembering.” He looked up from the charm, dropping it back against her neck, and met her eyes. “You mentioned you were from up North. You never said where, but I figured this might mean something to you,” he finished with a shrug - like the thought behind all of this was effortless.

So, she did what, in that moment, felt effortless to her - she hugged him. Threw her arms around his middle and rested her cheek against his chest, tight enough to feel the hammering of his heartbeat. His arms slowly rose to encircle her, holding her both softly and firmly to him, all at once. He sighed, and she sighed, and she tightened her grip on his torso - just one pulse - for emphasis. She felt him laugh in response, squeezing her back twice. All things considered, for their first hug - it wasn’t bad.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice cracking slightly, as she pulled back from his embrace. “This is…thank you. Very cool.”

He shrugged again - the nerve of him to make this seem so easy _and_ to look this good. It was pretty rude, really.

“It’s the least I could do.”

(She was dying to know what the most was.)

____

“This is really a two for one deal, because they say this hill has one of the best views for stargazing in the whole region,” Gendry noted. It was nearly dusk, and they were spreading Arya’s duvet onto the grass at the top of the hill - the weirwood grove perfectly visible off to the right, the sky clear above them.

“Are you sure it’s safe to sleep up here, though?” she asked, smoothing out one of the corners.

“Scared, captain?” he joked.

“I’d just hate for us to have come all this way, only to be ambushed in the middle of the night by…I don’t know. A pack of bears.”

“_Sleuth._ A sleuth of bears.”

“On second thought, they can have you.”

“Not the ‘come and get me’ attitude I’d typically expect from someone who had a hit list before she was a teenager.”

“I’ll admit that I’m a little bit scared, _if_ you agree to sleep with a ‘come and get me’ sign pinned to your shirt.”

Gendry settled onto his back, tossing his outside arm behind his head. “Go on, then,” he challenged. “It’s getting pretty dark, but go ‘head down to the van and make me a sign. I should warn you, though,” he added, his voice getting dangerously gruff. “They say this hill is haunted.”

“You’re trying to scare me more, but, see, _ghosts_ \- I can take a ghost,” she said, laying down next to him, matching his position.

“What about the ghost of a bear?”

“Cake.”

____

They’d never been this close to each other for this long, but he still pointed out constellations like every other night before, as if nothing were different. The air was quiet - for the first time, no sounds of other campers to carry them well into the night. Their soundtrack was just crickets and shallow breathing.

“Canis Major,” he said, stretching his legs, bumping her foot with his own. She’d remembered socks this time, but she _was_ sleeping outside, after all - she would be silly to shy away from the extra warmth.

“Still don’t know how you can see anything up there,” Arya grumbled. “It just looks like a bunch of stars to me.” She angled the top of her head toward his - purely in an attempt to make out the image he was trying to show her.

“It’s a hunting dog,” he said.

“What’s it hunting?”

“Some say a rabbit. Some say it’s helping Orion fight off a bull.”

“What do _you_ say?”

“The bull, for sure. Much cooler story.”

His inside hand moved when he stretched again, brushing against the tips of her fingers. Neither of them tore their gaze away from thy sky, but she was fairly confident both of them stopped breathing when he slowly enveloped her hand in his.

“Hmm,” she considered. “The bull doesn’t stand a chance.”

____

Gendry was already awake - staring ahead at the sunrise, still on his back - when her eyes opened the next morning. Their hands were no longer clasped together, but, at some point during sleep, she had turned onto her side and wrapped both of her arms around his muscled one.

She rustled the blankets when she stirred, and he turned his head to meet her eyes, disarming her before her head had even left her pillow.

He laughed a bit, taking her in. “Funny,” he muttered.

“What’s funny?” she asked groggily, feeling defensive.

“I haven’t slept through the night in months, except when I’ve slept next to you.”

“Why’s that funny?” she asked shakily. The same was true for her, and this was decidedly not the first time she’d considered that, but she wasn’t sure ‘funny’ quite captured it.

“Never been one for sleeping next to someone else. I take up too much space,” he explained, turning back to face the rising sun. “If I would’ve known the solution was this simple, I might’ve avoided the top of the van altogether.”

She snorted. “No way. You still would’ve slept up there in the beginning. You had too much honor.”

“Well, you _are_ a lady, after all.”

At that, she glared at him, eyes still half-lidded from sleep. “You take that back.”

He laughed some more but said nothing in response, just shook his head and continued to watch the sky change. She joined him. Looking at the sky, watching the colors bleed together, waiting for the stars to appear - that was their thing, now, she supposed. She liked that they had a thing.

“Hey, Gendry?”

“Hmm.”

“You could never take up too much space.”

____

“I thought you were against climbing!” Gendry shouted from the base of the shortest weirwood.

She’d taken a running leap at the tree, swinging from the lowest branch and propelling herself onto one several feet off the ground. She wouldn’t really consider it climbing, per se - she wouldn’t break anything if she were to fall off. But her feet swung pleasantly underneath her, and she’d forgotten how sturdy weirwoods were - how secure, how safe.

“Afraid of heights?” she yelled down at him, as he sized up the distance. In lieu of a reply, he jumped up to grab onto the branch just below Arya’s feet - no momentum - using pure upper-body strength to pull himself up. He balanced himself, feet planted squarely on the thickest part of the branch, and made a second, shorter leap to sit beside her.

“Show-off,” she muttered, not fully hiding how flustered she was by his display.

He exhaled, pleased with himself, and swung his feet in time with hers. Comfortable silence persisted for a few beats - Arya picking at a loose piece of bark by her thigh, Gendry examining the deep red leaves at this closer vantage point. She knew he was waiting for her to speak first - she’d told him the day before that she wanted to vent. But, once again, he decided to be more accommodating than he had any right to be.

“Your phone’s been awfully quiet today,” he noted. “Finally a cease-fire?”

“Ha,” she laughed monotonously. “If only it were that simple.”

“You said ‘later,’” he said, testing the waters. She smiled at him, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

“I’ve been at war in my own head for ten years,” she started. “Never been medicated, but I have a diagnosis and a therapist. Breathing techniques. All that shit.”

“It’s not shit,” he said, almost as a reflex.

“No,” she breathed, “it’s not. But if I don’t call it ‘shit,’ then it implies that I’m alright with it, and I…I’m not. It’s part of me, and there’s nothing _wrong_ with me,” she said, forcing the last part out of her mouth, like she did every time. “But I still wish it were different.”

“Of course,” he said carefully. There was another moment of silence before he spoke again. “What about your mum, then? She’s not…good with this? With emotions?”

“It’s, like, a cardinal sin of mental health to try diagnosing someone if you’re not a professional, but I’m about to be a professional,” she qualified. “My mum’s not good with my emotions, because she has the same problems that I do.”

Gendry blinked. “Has she ever gotten help?”

“_Fuck_, no,” she laughed. “Her parents never took it seriously. A lot was expected of her, and depression was just an inconvenience.” Arya took a slow, deep breath. “And then she married my father, just to get out of their house. And then she had a hundred kids, just because she was desperate to break the cycle. But all of that’s sort of futile if you don’t spend any time trying to heal yourself.”

“That’s what you’re trying to do,” he observed.

“She can’t stand it,” she said, confirming his statement with a slow nod. “If _she_ repressed her struggles, then so can I, according to her. All of this,” she continued, waving her hand over her head, “is a ‘waste of time.’”

“Your instinct to call yourself ‘dramatic’ makes a lot more sense now,” he mused with a smirk.

“You were right to ban that word. It kind of makes my blood run cold,” she said dryly, shooting him a tentative smile.

“Do you think she’s jealous of you?” Gendry asked sincerely. She looked at him - not quite curiously, but still intently. “Maybe ‘jealous’ isn’t the right word, but…I don’t know. It sounds like she sees you doing all of the things she wishes she could’ve.”

Of course, it had crossed her mind - and her mouth, several times over the years, in the heat of an argument with Catelyn. Even so, the thought was a bit too…illogical. She was nothing like her mother, nothing like the rest of her siblings who took after her in so many more ways. If anything, her mother should be jealous of Robb for being the faultless eldest sibling and bearing none of the resentment toward his parents. Be jealous of Sansa for being the ethereal beauty, the mild-mannered touch, everything that epitomized propriety and femininity. Being jealous of Arya was the _real _waste of time.

She told Gendry as much.

“Well,” he asserted, stretching his arms up to graze the branch above them, “I personally think being jealous of _anyone_ is a waste of time. But I happen to think there are a lot of reasons to look up to you.”

She smiled again - genuinely this time. “I don’t think anyone’s looking _up_ to me, do you?”

It took him a second, but the laugh he gave her when he understood the joke reached every nerve ending under her skin.

“You’re gonna be good at your job,” he told her.

She rolled her eyes - a defense mechanism that Gendry had grown to recognize, given the way he continued to pointedly stare her down. Being called on her crap by him felt different than it did when it came from other people. He had no reason to give her empty words, and if he could identify her tendency to deflect, she could just as easily identify his inability to say something he didn’t mean.

So, she didn’t deflect - she softened, and she thanked him, and they stayed in the tree - sturdy, secure, safe - for a bit longer.

____

“What about you?” she asked, as he helped her make the final leap back onto the forest floor. “Ever been to therapy?”

“I have, actually,” he confirmed. “My mum sent me when I was a kid.”

“What for?” She no longer felt like she was overstepping when she asked him questions - she knew that if he didn’t want to tell her, he wouldn’t.

“I said before that she always let me feel how I felt,” he started. “And a lot of that was anger. From…a pretty early age.” His voice got quiet - not sad, but still quiet. “She was so gentle and kind, and sometimes I think I was more than she could handle. It only made me angrier knowing that I was a lot for her.”

“You were, probably,” Arya said. “But it also sounds like you were everything for her.”

“Very true,” he said, smiling warmly. “You should consider a career in this. Being a therapist or something.”

“Shove off.” She nudged his shoulder with her own and laughed when he stumbled off the dirt path.

____

They settled back into the van, the seats pleasantly warm from sitting in the sun for the entire day before. The emotional weight of their conversation that morning - and of the past several days, truthfully - sank in with them, and Gendry, back in the driver’s seat, made no move to start the car.

“I am knackered,” he said. “We need to spice things up.”

She couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up from her stomach when she saw the immediate blush that covered his features.

“Shut up. I didn’t mean it like that,” he grumbled.

“Shame,” she muttered, leaning down to rifle through the bag at her feet. She pulled out her wallet and fished out a coin, displaying it in her outstretched palm. “Drive.”

He stayed frozen and looked at her, trying to work out what she was doing.

“Heads is left, tails is right,” she explained. “Drive until we get back to the main road, and then we’ll flip a coin whenever we come to a fork. First interesting thing we see, that’s what we’ll do.”

He nodded slowly in understanding, finally moving to put the key into the ignition. “I’m impressed, captain,” he said, the exhaustion already fading from his face, as he pulled away from the hill.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m full of good ideas,” she said sarcastically.

He looked over at her then, van still rolling down the path at a steady pace. When she caught his eye, he opened his mouth, as if to say something, before he thought better of it. The light in his gaze said more than enough.

“Eyes on the road, stupid,” she said, reaching forward to grab his chin and redirect his attention. They were approaching the entrance to the main road, so she quickly tossed the coin in the air, catching it in her other palm. “And turn right.”

____

Her sister called just after the fifth coin flip. Arya boldly answered on speaker and made sure to alert Sansa, before she could say anything embarrassing. Gendry seemed pleasantly taken aback to be privy to a family member check-in.

“Oh, good! So are you!” Sansa replied. She sounded cheery, and it made Arya feel the same. “Say hi to Aunt Arya, sweetling.”

“Yesterday at camp, we went to the zoo, and I got to feed a lion!” came Ember’s high-pitched greeting.

Arya and Gendry shared a smile. “That sounds amazing, love. You’re very brave,” Arya said.

“Gods, what kind of camp is this?” Gendry muttered to her out of the corner of his mouth.

Never one to miss a single detail, Ember gasped. “Who’s that?”

“It’s Gendry. Remember, my friend that came over for dinner?”

“Yeah!” the little girl squealed delightedly. “I asked my mum if he would come over again, and she said probably.” Clearly, Arya’s warning at the beginning of the call had been for naught.

“Alright, you. That’s enough,” Sansa whispered, as Gendry raised his eyebrow at Arya in amusement.

“Your mum is a funny lady,” Arya said, enunciating the last two words. “Almost too funny.”

“Well, you’re welcome any time, Gendry,” Sansa said, pointedly avoiding her sister’s scolding.

“Thank you,” he replied, raising his voice slightly to ensure that it reached. “I’d love to come back,” he added, with a wink to Arya.

She groaned, and her sister’s laughter quickly joined Gendry’s, and it was all wonderful and terrifying - how natural it felt.

____

“Left.”

“What’s that sign say?” Gendry asked, pointing to a small wooden placard sticking out of the dirt a few yards ahead.

“‘Acorn Hall Summer Music Festival,'” Arya read. “Looks like it’s going on until the end of next week.”

“I’m sold.”

____

They followed the signs until they heard music in the distance, signaling their impending arrival. The festival seemed strategically set up across the street from a campground - a field littered with vans like theirs and a cluster of log cabins among the trees farther back. They found a semi-shaded spot to park and grabbed their essentials, before hopping out of the car and toward the commotion.

“I’ve always wanted to live in a log cabin,” Arya mused, as they crossed the street.

“I’ve always wanted to live in one of those tiny houses,” Gendry said.

“_You_? In a _tiny_ house?”

He looked over at her as they walked side by side, meeting her incredulous expression with one of defiance.

“What’s the face for? We’re literally living out of your van.”

“I guess,” she said dismissively. “You and the word ‘tiny’ in the same sentence just seems counterintuitive.”

He snorted and quirked a brow.

She scoffed. “I’ve had about enough out of you.”

____

Music festivals were never Arya’s scene, and she imagined that they were never Gendry’s, either. The crowd at Acorn Hall was too eclectic for them to look out of place, though. Five minutes into their arrival, she’d already added it to her running list of places she vowed to return someday - it was a short list, but something about this wooded nook made an impression. The air was crisp, it smelled of oak, and the baldness of the surrounding trees made her wish they’d come here in the thick of autumn. She pictured it - returning here, with Gendry - and smiled to herself.

A Ferris wheel stood as the centerpiece of the festival, and she unabashedly dragged Gendry toward it by the hand. He pretended to protest, but he didn’t let go of her hand while they waited in line, so she thought he might not have cared all that much.

____

“What are you buying that for?” Arya asked, approaching Gendry from behind, as he finalized his purchase of a postcard at the pay counter of a souvenir kiosk.

“I…” he said, startled, “I’ve been buying them everywhere we stop.” He shoved the postcard into his backpack without meeting her stare.

“When did you start doing that?” she asked, somewhat tickled by how embarrassed he seemed.

“Back in Deep Den,” he admitted. “I bought one when you were using the loo in that store where we got the swim trunks.”

“That’s sweet,” she said. “What are you gonna do with them all?”

“Why do you take so many pictures?” he asked in response.

_To remember_, she thought.

____

“What the _fuck_, Arya? Have I not rubbed off on you even a _little_ bit this whole time?”

She skipped dramatically toward him from the other side of the grassy aisle, an enormous tub of caramel corn cradled in her arms, not caring that rogue pieces were spilling onto the ground behind her. He’d turned his back for ten minutes, told her to go and grab a spare map of the festival grounds, while he looked at the concert schedule to see if he recognized any of the bands.

“I’m not even sorry,” she said, laughing through each word. She tossed a kernel into the air and caught it effortlessly in her mouth. “It’s just a light snack.”

“You’re not eating all of that,” he said affirmatively.

“Ex_cuse_ me?” she bit back. She could no longer sense sarcasm in his tone, but she knew he wasn’t actually ordering her around. His voice had an unrecognizable authority to it - a forced confidence, if she had to guess.

“You’re not eating all of that,” he repeated.

“And why not?”

“Because I want to take you out. To dinner.” He breathed in deep, his muscles relaxing a bit on the exhale. “I want to take you out to dinner.”

She sucked in a breath of her own and blinked at him. It was just as she thought when she first met him - he was continuing to surprise her. They’d been out to dinner loads of times over the last month, but they’d never been…_out to dinner_.

Driving was so simple - all they had to do was go from one point to the next. There was no expectation for anything else, no additional hidden action required to make it count, and he was _still_ bloody surprising her.

“Okay,” she said, feeling out of body. He hadn’t called it a date - hadn’t called it anything, really - but the rapid beating of her heart threatened to propel her straight off the ground and into the fucking sun.

He reached for the tub of popcorn, and she faintly registered her relinquishing it to him. Then, there was nothing standing between them - alternatively, though, there was everything.

“Okay,” he confirmed, looking her up and down appreciatively. The simple gesture made her flush, but it also made her eyes widen in realization.

She gestured along the length of his body with her index finger, before doing the same along her own. “We’re not wearing this, though.”

____

They’d consulted a map again, this time one that detailed the entire small town, and they’d spotted a Braavosi restaurant a few blocks from where they’d parked. They’d walked back in the direction they’d come, remembering that they’d passed a few clothing shops on their way to the festival, and they’d decided to reconvene by the campground in thirty minutes.

The wind chimes above the door of the boutique jingled daintily over Arya’s head when she entered - cautiously at first, since she could see neither a patron nor a shopkeeper. An older woman’s voice rang out suddenly from a storeroom, telling Arya that she would be right with her.

In the meantime, she started to peruse the racks, already mildly displeased with her options. She had never been stereotypically _girly_ \- a word she loathed - in her wardrobe, and this store seemed much more up Sansa’s alley, by the looks of it.

“Hello, dear!” the woman sang out, her voice clearer now, as she bustled toward the aisle where Arya stood.

“Hi,” she replied politely. She never quite knew how to broach small talk, and she was suddenly hyperaware of what she must have looked like - a sheen of sweat covering her face, hair slightly greasy from nearly a full day without wetting it. “I’m just looking for…an outfit,” she said feebly.

“Well, let’s get you an outfit. What’s the occasion…?” she asked, prompting Arya for her name and extending her hand for a proper introduction.

“Arya.” She grasped the woman’s outstretched hand and squeezed lightly.

“Ravella,” the woman smiled. “What’s the occasion, Arya?”

“I...I have a date. I think.” She was halfway through her twenties, and she was stuttering about a date. She could hardly recognize herself.

“In my experience, Arya,” Ravella offered, “if you think it’s a date - it’s a date.” She thumbed through garment after garment, sizing Arya up and pulling articles out as she saw fit. Perhaps the woman was bored, but Arya found it sweet - a little unnecessary, but sweet, nonetheless - that she’d silently decided to help her.

They searched in silence, a mountain of colored fabrics piling up in Ravella’s arms, knocking the two lonely tops Arya had chosen out of the water. Her discouragement must have been transparent, because Ravella stopped to look at her.

“Not seeing anything you like?”

“No!” Arya quickly assured her. “No, that’s not it. It’s just…none of this stuff is really ‘me,’ I guess.”

“And who are you, then?”

Arya snorted, looking down at her shoes, freshly scuffed from tree-climbing, and fiddled with the hem of her t-shirt - the one with a hole in the collar and lettering so faded, it could barely be read. Ravella clucked in disapproval at Arya’s insecurity, sorting through the garments in her arms and handing her a plain dress made of chestnut-colored silk and a neckline lower than anything she would have picked out herself. She could count on one hand the number of times she’d willingly worn a dress in her adulthood, but the sight of this one didn’t produce the discomfort she’d typically expect.

“Try this,” Ravella suggested gently. “And I’ll find you some comfortable shoes.”

____

She’d settled on the outfit only a few minutes into being in the store, but she spent the entire half hour with Ravella - letting her comb the knots out of her hair, entertaining her accessory suggestions, and answering her questions about Gendry. She made Arya swear that he was kind and handsome. Maybe she’d lost a daughter, or maybe this was truly her nature, but it didn’t really matter, Arya supposed. Being shown a matronly kindness that she’d only ever seen from an outsider’s perspective - not even the possibility of seeing Gendry sooner than they’d planned could tear her away.

(She felt sad for a fleeting moment. She pulled her phone out when Ravella turned her back, stared at it for a beat. She thought to text her own mother, tell her she missed her and that she was sorry - but she didn’t.)

Arya felt exposed, self-conscious about the lack of curve in her waist and unable to stop adjusting the thin straps of the dress, but she guessed she didn’t look so bad. She humored Ravella, gave her one last twirl, and spent a solid minute trying to dissuade the woman from letting her take the clothes free of charge - a battle that Arya lost.

“Thank you. You didn’t have to do all of this,” Arya said graciously, bracing the handle of the front door. She looked down at herself, barely believing the way this day had turned out. “And thank you for the dress. It’s pretty.”

“And so are you,” Ravella said, reaching forward to tweak her nose playfully. Arya laughed and stepped onto the pavement outside.

“Wish me luck,” she said with a wave.

“Be brave!” Ravella shouted after her. “And knock him dead.”

____

The walk to the campground was short, but the time it took for her to talk herself out of that stupid outfit was even shorter.

It blew uncomfortably in the breeze, forcing Arya to keep tugging it down behind her. She was not incredibly well-endowed in the chest, wasn’t the type of girl that she assumed this dress was made for, so the thin material clung awkwardly to the space between her breasts, as if to draw even more attention to the cleavage she didn’t have. She had to hand it to Ravella - the shoes _were_ comfortable. But suddenly she regretted her decision to go with the flats, as they did no favors for her short legs.

She was about to turn back around, try to find a different store and switch into something more casual, when she rounded the corner and saw Gendry tugging at the collar of his shirt. She savored the split second before he noticed her, taking the time to note that he looked just as uncomfortable as she felt.

“Hey,” she said, approaching him slowly, still holding the back of her dress down awkwardly, as the wind continued to blow. She lamely wished she had a jacket, but she also felt incredibly warm, despite the chill.

Gendry’s eyes widened, as he processed her transformation. His hand flew from his collar to the back of his neck, rubbing it nervously. Just as quickly, he brought it back to his face, curling it into a fist and clearing his throat against his knuckles.

“I know. Stupid,” she muttered, smoothing the wrinkles out of the front of the dress. “Who goes with a brown dress for a dinner date? I look like a fucking oak tree.”

Her self-admonition must have ignited something in him, because he stepped forward and put the same hand to a different use, settling it loosely on her hip.

“Nice, though,” he croaked out. “A nice oak tree.”

She laughed in spite of herself, dropping her head down to watch her feet brush against the pavement. She noticed his dress shoes, the leather stiff from not being properly broken in, and laughed some more.

“What are we doing?” she giggled.

“Honestly,” he said, shaking his head and rolling his neck in a circle. “Whose dumb idea was this?”

“I’m not sure. I remember you saying something about dinner, and then I think I blacked out.”

He sighed, looking over both of their ensembles one more time, before glancing up and down the street where they stood. He returned to her curious expression with a newfound conviction.

“Come on,” he declared, grabbing her hand. “Change of plans.”

____

She couldn’t even be mad that the fancy dinner had been cancelled, considering she’d never been more confident that they’d have a chance for another one.

Carrying loads of heavy grocery bags and the biggest bottle of wine they could find, laughing while they attempted to open the door to the cabin, the one they’d been lucky enough to snag right after a group of university students checked out - that all felt much more natural, anyway.

____

“Gods, you’re awful at this.”

“All I’m doing is stirring the sauce! How am I messing up?!”

“That’s it. Out of the kitchen.”

“I thought I was a _lady_,” Arya teased, drawing out the last word for dramatic effect. “I thought _ladies_ belonged in the kitchen.”

“First of all, gross,” Gendry muttered, bumping her out of her spot in front of the stove and grabbing the spatula. “And second of all, you weren’t even using the utensil I gave you. What kind of lady stirs boiling pasta sauce with her pinky finger?”

She leaned in to take another swipe, licking her finger, as she moved to refill her wine glass.

“The bad kind.”

____

Splitting a bottle of red was probably not the smartest solution when there was still a pretty important conversation to be had.

It had been almost a week since their moment by the lighthouse, and neither had made any direct attempt to…try again, at the very least. Any progress they’d made so far had been a silent contract. Each clearly waiting for the other to take the chance.

Three tall glasses of Cabernet was, evidently, Arya’s threshold for tolerance - for patience, anyway. Not for any kind of physical sensation. She felt drunk around Gendry no matter what.

She’d connected to the Internet and queued up a documentary, and now she stood in the minimally furnished living space, watching him clean up the cooking area. Given that he hadn’t been outside in several hours, she knew that the flush on his cheeks meant he was equally tipsy. Quietly, she made her way to the counter next to the sink and hoisted herself onto it, knowing that he’d reach her eventually, as he progressively wiped down the granite surface.

Sure enough, he took his sweet time, waiting until he’d brushed away a cluster of crumbs that sat right next to her thigh, before he set down the dishtowel and acknowledged her presence with a palm to her knee.

“Why haven’t you tried to kiss me again?” she asked boldly, the words tumbling out of her mouth clumsily.

As if the question itself were reeling him in, he moved slowly to stand more squarely in front of her, bracing both of her knees now with his warm hands, moving them carefully apart to settle into the space between them.

“I could ask you the same thing,” he replied, his voice low. The wine had stained his lips, and she didn’t trust herself to look at them for too long.

“Don’t you want to?” she asked in a near whisper. The torturous path his hands were taking up her thighs belied his obvious effort in self-restraint, but she had to know - she had to be sure.

He exhaled, as she inhaled - cedar and spice, partly from the alcohol on his breath, but mostly from his natural musk. His breathing was shaky, and he seemed to have the same aversion to her eyes that she did to his mouth.

“So badly,” he said with a quiet urgency. “You have no idea.” She brought her own hands to rest on his shoulders, deciding to close her eyes entirely. She gasped softly when she sensed him moving closer, his breath now close enough to tickle her jawline.

“What are you waiting for, then?” she murmured, gliding one of her hands around the back of his neck to thread her fingers through his hair. She tugged lightly, emboldened by the wine and his hum of appreciation and the barely-there kiss he laid on her cheek. He left his lips there to linger when he spoke again.

“Not...“ His breath hitched when she brought her own lips to the top of his forehead. “Not when,” he tried again, stopping himself to nuzzle her neck with the tip of his nose. “Not like this. The first time can’t be when we’ve been drinking,” he said firmly, trying to convince himself just as much as her. “It can’t, Arya.”

“I know,” she muttered. And she did know. “You’re right.” She sighed against his hair, feeling him do the same into the space behind her ear. Unwinding her arms from around his neck, she pulled back, granting them both some reprieve. “I knew the wine was a dumb decision,” she grumbled.

He met her eyes for the first time since she’d sat down, reaching blindly for her hands and bringing them both to his lips. He didn’t kiss them, so much as hold them there, closing his eyes and swaying in place.

“I have so much I want to say first and I’m pretty sure I’m half in love with you already and I deserve a fucking medal, holy shit,” he said in one breath.

She moved her hands out of his grasp and cupped both of his cheeks, sliding off of the counter and bringing his face down to her level, as a result. His eyes still closed, she softly kissed the crinkle in the corner of his eye, before stepping away completely. The immediate lack of warmth wasn’t lost on either of them.

“That makes two of us,” she said. “On all three counts.” She couldn’t even find it in herself to be disappointed. The burning desire in the pit of her stomach - the desire for _him_ \- still persisted, but it was quickly overpowered by an intense need to handle all of this - their feelings, the unknown, this unfairly pure person, just within her reach - with care.

She silently padded back toward the living room, expecting him to follow, but she turned around to see him still standing with his eyes closed, as if Arya were still right in front of him.

“Seriously?” she japed, louder than either of them had spoken in quite some time, determined to hang on to the last bit of liquid courage she had. His eyes shot open at the sound of her question, blinking at her in confusion.

“If you’re not gonna follow me, you’re not even gonna give me the satisfaction of watching me walk away? My ass looks fit in these leggings.”

____

Neither of them made it twenty minutes into the movie before they fell asleep - side by side, on the pull-out couch, because they still needed to work some things out, but _that_ contract was signed a long time ago.

____

Arya was already familiar with it - the tightness around the dip in her waist, the comfortable heat pressing her into the cushions, the slow-breathing mass that brushed the tip of her nose. She took an experimental breath, shifting slightly when the breathing mass began to wake. If this was another dream, she wanted to stay asleep forever - halfway across Westeros was good enough. The sequence continued like she remembered - the kiss on the top of her hair, the whispered ‘good morning.’ She waited with bated breath for some confirmation that she wasn’t awake.

“Fancy a walk?” she heard, in the same careful hush above her head.

Only then did she pull back, grey meeting blue. Gendry smiled at her, brighter than anything should have rightfully been at such a tender hour. She smiled back, because they both finally had the words.

____

“You first.”

“No, you first.”

Arya snorted. “How old are we?”

“I have no idea,” Gendry laughed, shaking his head. “Nothing makes sense at the moment.”

They found themselves on a quiet trail behind the cabins, circling a placid lake. Without a second thought, her hand sought his when they reached the bottom of the steps - another silent contract.

“That sounds like a perfect starting point,” she decided.

He took his time breathing in the morning air, wheels turning in his head, seemingly trying to decide where to begin.

“You terrify me,” he said. “I wasn’t lying before, when I said I always fuck things up. I’m always scared when I like someone, and no one I’ve ever met holds a bloody _candle_ to you, so imagine how…_extra_ scared that makes me.”

She laughed at his diction and his honesty. “What’s so scary about me?”

“You’re a force to be reckoned with, Arya,” he said. “I’ve never imagined standing a chance with a woman like you.”

She’d heard the phrase countless times before - ‘a woman like you_._’ It usually felt condescending, dismissive, shallow. It usually came from people who assumed her to be unaware of her privilege, people who were well-acquainted with her station in life. ‘A woman like you’ always meant Stark. Never before had it meant just Arya - never before had it been uttered with such veneration.

“You think you’re the only one that’s scared here?” she asked. “This wasn’t exactly part of the game plan. This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“What exactly is _this_?”

“We’re talking in circles, Gendry,” she asserted, stopping in her tracks. “We’re literally holding hands. You tell me.”

“I think I just keep waiting for the other shoe to drop,” he admitted. “Like, the real world’s just waiting for the perfect moment to pull us back down to earth.”

“You wanna know what I think?”

“Desperately.”

“I think we’re both overthinking this.”

“I didn’t know there was another way to think.” She rolled her eyes.

“Look,” Arya started, “I know what you mean. We’re in a bubble, and time is fake, and maybe in the real world we would fucking hate each other,” she said, tossing her free hand into the air and letting it fall back to her side. “But in this fake world, I like you more than I like most people.”

“I like you so much, it’s embarrassing,” he echoed, lifting their joined hands to place a kiss on the inside of her wrist.

“So, how about this?” she proposed. “We still have time. We’re only halfway through. Let’s just…keep exploring this.”

He nodded slowly. “I can do that.”

“What about after?”

“Why are you asking _me_ that?” he asked, laughing in disbelief. “This is your plan.”

“I need it to be our plan,” she said quietly. “If this is gonna work, it needs to be our plan.”

He smiled down at her, his eyes moving dangerously low on her face.

“Let after be after,” he said. “We’re smart. I’m sure we’ll figure it out.”

“This is probably pretty irresponsible.”

“Probably.”

“Guess it’s good that I still have a month before I need to be responsible,” Arya concluded, turning away to continue walking. But their hands were still joined, and Gendry was strong, so the firmness of his stance prohibited her from going far without letting go, and she really had no business letting go of anything when it came to him.

When her arm was fully outstretched, elbow locked, he tugged her back to stand in front of him - not hard enough to cause pain, but forcefully enough to send her flying past where she’d stood before and into the circle of his arms, enough to send a jolt of pleasure straight to her core.

All capacity for coherent thought left her brain, and he was bringing one hand up to cradle her face, while the other splayed across the small of her back, and he was leaning in, having the audacity to stop right as their lips touched to whisper, “Where do you think you’re going?” She didn’t have an answer, but she couldn’t give one if she wanted to, because it was happening - they were taking the chance.

The decision to make their first kiss a passionate one was a lot like every other decision they’d ever made - mutual and unspoken. In seconds, their mouths moved together effortlessly, like they were performing a dance they’d rehearsed a thousand times. Tongues swirled and exhales were hot, and Gendry moved his head back, forcing Arya to chase his mouth - something she ordinarily would find infuriating, but something she did with desperation. He moaned wickedly when she teased him back, sucking his bottom lip between her teeth and massaging it with her tongue.

He walked her backwards until she felt her heels bump against the trunk of a tree, and she smiled into their next kiss when she felt his hand move from her neck to the back of her head, allowing her to lean back comfortably without rubbing against the jagged bark. She suddenly remembered the last time, when they’d almost gotten to this point, and she chanced a peek at Gendry’s face the next time she pulled back - only to be met with a look of equal yearning.

“You opened your eyes,” she giggled, shamelessly aware of her hypocrisy.

“I missed you,” he said, panting slightly.

“I’m right here, stupid,” she whispered.

He beamed, eager to close the short distance between them again, and bent back down to capture her lips. She was happy to have caught that - she swiftly committed the vision to memory. And when her hand, previously settled on his hip, gradually made its way up his chest and behind his head and into his hair, he pulled away again, only to whisper her name.

It was infinitely better than her dream.

____

They had one more day with the cabin, and Gendry had allowed Arya to convince him - in a moment of weakness - to let them watch all of the Harry Potter movies, and the overcast sun outside served as the perfect ambience.

Because they’d made so many strides, crossed so many barriers, still had so much time, but a slow start - a slow start still felt right.

____

“What house do you think I’m in?” Arya asked, an hour into the first film.

“You sound like you already know the answer.”

“I’m testing your knowledge so far.”

“I don’t know. The blue one.”

“_Raven_claw?!”

“You’re smart!”

“I’m a Gryffindor, and you’re not allowed to kiss me again until you learn the names. There’s only four.”

He frowned. “You’re mean. Definitely not a Hufflepuff.”

“There you go.”

____

They’d decided to pause the marathon to order in for dinner - a luxury neither had enjoyed in quite some time - and it had been almost physically painful for Arya to extricate herself from Gendry’s embrace so she could use the toilet.

The mirror above the sink was cracked, but she still stood in front of it for several minutes, searching for some kind of rationality behind her wild eyes. They’d spoken, and the only way to go was forward, and what she’d told her sister all those weeks ago was still true - she struggled to think of anything in her life that made more sense than Gendry being with her. Not _with_ her - they were letting after be after. But just…with her. Stirring pasta sauce, pausing movies to ask questions, kissing along her collarbone. She was still afraid, she realized. But he’d taught her so much about leaning into fear - he’d taught her more than he knew.

“Absolutely,” she heard Gendry say from the living room, presumably to someone on the phone. He was quiet for another few beats. She was never one to eavesdrop, but he sounded tense. “Of course. That’s reasonable,” he said.

She creaked open the bathroom door, wanting to alert him of her ability to hear him, just in case he wanted to move somewhere more private. He acknowledged her with a quick glance and cleared his throat.

“I apologize, I have to go. But I can do that…No, thank you. I appreciate it…Have a good day, sir,” he finished, hanging up the phone and tossing it unceremoniously onto the couch behind where he’d been pacing.

“Everything alright?” Arya asked cautiously. The tension in his shoulders already seemed to fade as she approached, and he nodded.

“More than alright,” he said, breathing a sigh of relief when she was close enough to reach. He seemed to realize that his strained expression belied his dismissive words, because he smiled warmly.

“Later,” he told her simply. “I promise. Just not today.”

She understood - was honored that he was trusting her the same way she’d trusted him. In that way, and in every way, they felt like equals.

“Not today,” she repeated, standing on her tiptoes to place a soft kiss on his lips. “Deal.”

____

Their cabin sat at the head of the cluster, just before the field of parked RVs, with a slightly obstructed view of the ongoing festival. They couldn’t quite see the stage, but the music wafted through the cool air when they stood on the small front porch. The sun had set, and the only lights nearby came from surrounding houses, and she let out a startled laugh when Gendry grabbed her hand to spin her around.

“You’re in for a rude awakening. I’m an awful dancer,” she warned him, settling into his insistent embrace, one hand clasped in his and the other resting on his shoulder.

“Can’t be as awful as I am,” he muttered, kissing the top of her head.

They swayed wordlessly for a few moments, soaking in the distant music and the buzzing wildlife, which perfectly matched the similar buzzing that Arya had felt since that morning.

“I dreamt about kissing you. That morning in Lannisport,” she confessed against his chest.

Her head shook, as he let out a laugh. “I knew that wasn’t a bad dream,” he teased her, squeezing her waist. “You’re off the hook, though. I’ve had loads of dreams about you.”

“Oh, yeah?” she asked, lifting her head to look up at him, narrowing her eyes slightly to make out his features in the dark. “Plan to tell me about them?”

“We’ve got a month to go,” he responded, lifting their joint hands over her head to spin her again. “I’d rather show you.”

Patience was never Arya’s strong suit - she’d told Gendry as much when they first embarked on this trip, told him that she didn’t tend to play the long game. But she’d never been so grateful to have miles and detours and time on their side in this - this, the longest game she’d ever accidentally played. It was hard to be anything but grateful when she was dancing barefoot on a summer night, purposely stepping on Gendry’s feet and gripping his hand tighter as a reward for each laugh he gave her.

The man on the distant stage carried on throughout their dance - singing about featherbeds, and golden leaves, and keeping his love warm and safe. In that moment, she couldn’t remember feeling any other way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi my name is erin and i have a problem - at this rate, ch. 11 will be an entire novel. sorry, but also what am i supposed to do when these are the two idiots i’m working with? can you blame me?
> 
> (the response to the last chapter blew me away. thank you thank you thank you - for reading and for caring. ❤️)


	7. acorn hall to harrenhal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> featuring - baseball and rowing and facing fears

_“Talk to me more about that. What gives you the idea that you’re not going to find love?”_

_It was Thursday afternoon, at quarter past four, and Arya was fiddling with the same loose thread she always did during that time - the one on the arm of the couch in Dr. Forel’s office. The room was quiet, save for the low hum of the white noise machine in the corner - a bit unnerving, but she knew it was by design. In any other setting, she was expertly able to reject serious conversation. Here, she had nowhere to hide._

_“I didn’t say that,” she sighed. “I just can’t see why anyone would wanna…date the depressed girl. That’s all.”_

_Her therapist eyed her curiously. Arya was fairly certain she’d never seen him blink. _

_“Would you let someone else’s troubles stop you from loving them?” he asked her pointedly._

_She sighed again. “Of course not. But that’s not-”_

_“You are troubled,” he said affirmatively. “Good. We all are. Trouble is the perfect time for training.”_

_“Training for what?”_

_“To see more clearly. See that people love you and want to be near you and want you to heal.”_

_“That’s much easier said than done,” Arya said dejectedly. _

_“It certainly is,” he agreed. “The heart lies, and the head plays tricks on us, but the eyes see true. And it’s objectively true that you are no less worthy of love than anyone else.”_

_“Sure,” she smirked. “I pay you to tell me that, though.”_

_“You’re deflecting again,” he noted, smiling when she narrowed her eyes. “Are you afraid?” he asked._

_The question made her feel suddenly heavy - like she was permanently fixed to the cushion beneath her. Like just _thinking_ about how afraid she was - afraid of her own mind, afraid of losing more of herself than she’d already lost, afraid of giving herself to someone, only to lose them, too - made her feel paralyzed. She couldn’t fathom _speaking_ about it._

_As he always seemed to do, Dr. Forel read her mind. _

_“If you don’t talk about fear, it automatically wins. It preys on silence,” he told her. “Fear cuts deeper than even the sharpest sword.”_

____

They woke up together the next morning, fully intertwined and without apology. They’d still shared little more than kisses - chaste ones, lazy ones, ones that could have easily led to more, if they’d allowed it. Both seemed intent on preserving this period of slow exploration, though. Content with the simple reality of no longer having to lean away.

Arya had always thought it a myth, something that only happened in frivolous romantic comedies - that two people, crazy for each other, would optimize every last second of time in their rented room until the check-out deadline.

But gods be damned, if that wasn’t exactly what they did.

To an outsider, it probably looked silly and juvenile and a little bit ridiculous - but as Gendry lightly sucked on a spot behind her ear that she didn’t even know existed, she could not, for the _life _of her, think of why that could be.

Because they’d found the right words, and they were in this together now, but the little things were still their first language. It was the way he heated up their leftovers while she took a shower and set two places at the small coffee table for breakfast. The way she absentmindedly pulled a few pieces of lint off of his sweatshirt sleeve when he ultimately paid at the reservation desk. The way he still insisted on opening the car door for her, even though she was officially back in the driver’s seat.

She imagined that, no matter how much they did or didn’t say, they’d always convey a hell of a lot more through stuff like that.

____

“What are you doing?”

“Shh. One minute.”

“You said that two minutes ago.”

“Don’t make me change my mind,” Arya warned, waving her phone in front of his face.

“Change your mind about _what_?”

“Hmm. Two impatient people on a cross-country road trip. How have we not choked each other out yet?”

“Would you be into that?”

“Gendry!” she shrieked, extending her arm to smack his shoulder, still not tearing her attention from her phone. He caught her hand and pressed a quick kiss to her palm. She finished out her task with a soft smile.

“And, voilà,” she said after another moment, with a flourish of her wrist. She turned in her seat, leaning onto her elbows, across the center console and toward Gendry.

“What would you say if I told you I just got us two pretty decent tickets to the Harrenhal playoff game in two days?” she asked coquettishly.

His eyes widened. “I would say that you’re_ way_ too far away from me right now. Come here,” he demanded, already moving to meet her in the middle.

“That’s too bad, because the tickets aren’t actually decent,” she said, leaning back with an exaggerated frown, turning it promptly upside down at his confusion. “They’re bloody incredible.”

She tilted her phone screen toward him, so he could see the purchase confirmation, and he studied it for a moment. His eyes widened again - still with pleasant surprise, but with a newfound vulnerability.

“That’s the date, two days from now? The sixteenth of July?”

She furrowed her brow, moving her gaze from his face to double-check the tickets. “Yeah, today’s the fourteenth. Why?”

He laughed nervously and cleared his throat, bringing his elbow up to rest fully on the console and cradle his head in his hand. He looked like he was debating whether or not to tell her something, but before she could ask further, he sighed.

“Tomorrow’s my birthday,” he said quietly. It was Arya’s turn to look surprised.

“Wait, seriously?” she asked, the corners of her lips beginning to curl excitedly. “Why didn’t you say something sooner?”

Gendry shrugged. “Haven’t been keeping track of the days, really,” he muttered.

She looked at him silently for a few beats, taking in his expression - his tight-lipped smile, his attention shifted downward, the way he itched the side of his neck. In the context of the conversation, she read his mind instantly.

“You don’t like your birthday,” she concluded.

He laughed then, his expression finally reaching his eyes, as he looked back up at her. “What gave me away?”

She lifted her hand to pinch his chin. “I hate mine, too,” she said, guiding him toward her for a quick kiss. He stole another, as she pulled back, making them both laugh.

“You’re not gonna make us celebrate it, are you?” he asked, almost in a whine.

“That depends. How old are you turning?”

“Twenty-nine,” he grumbled.

“So, you just want to _skip_ all of the twenty-ninth birthday traditions?” she exclaimed sarcastically. “I mean, it’s a milestone year, Gendry.”

“_Arya_,” he pleaded, rolling his eyes.

She laughed at his desperation and brought the hand still holding his chin to cup his cheek. She kissed him again - one of the slow ones. Those were, decidedly, her favorite.

“I’m teasing you,” she assured him, when their lips finally parted. “No celebrations. You have my word.”

“Thank you,” he said warmly, kissing her once more on the tip of her nose.

“Shame, though,” she mused, turning back toward the steering wheel to start the van. “I hate my own birthday, but I love other people’s. You let me know if you feel like cashing in.”

He laughed again, shaking his head and looking at her intently - like he couldn’t quite believe she was real. She knew the feeling.

“Will do, captain.”

____

For two impatient people, Arya and Gendry really seemed to love delaying an arrival.

The drive to Harrenhal from Acorn Hall was only three hours long, but one voodoo museum, one roadside farmer’s market, and one ‘Best Marshmallows in Westeros’ sign later found them pulled off onto the side of the road, perched on top of the van - still a half hour to go, but not wanting to miss the approaching sunset.

“Never have I ever shoplifted,” Arya said, tossing a marshmallow in the air. Gendry swiftly caught it in his mouth and reluctantly put a finger down.

“Nothing too expensive,” he qualified. “Just the occasional lighter.”

“I’m disappointed in you.”

“Never have I ever kicked someone in the balls.”

She flipped him off before catching a marshmallow herself. “Hit my fucking sister, I’ll destroy you. Simple.”

He grinned proudly. “Noted.”

“Never have I ever…” she trailed off, eyeing him closely, trying to plan her next move. He tossed her another marshmallow, but he overshot, and it fell to the ground. “Never have I ever had a crush on an animated character.”

“Fuck off!” he shrieked. “I told you that in confidence.”

“And do you see me telling anyone?” she teased. “I don’t know why you’re embarrassed. Snow White’s hot.”

“Evidently, I have a type,” he mumbled loudly enough for her to hear, running a hand through his hair.

“Your turn, Prince Charming,” she said knowingly, stretching her arms over head, before leaning back on her forearms. The trees before them were slightly denser than the optimal sunset view would typically provide, but she could still make out a purple haze clouding over the horizon. It was her favorite color.

“Permission to make this cheesy?” he asked, leaning down to match her position.

“I think the _super_ romantic sunset pretty much requires it.”

“Never have I ever felt about anyone the way I feel about you,” he said, nudging her shoulder with his.

“Nicely done,” she laughed. “But I can’t put a finger down, because I’ve never done that either. About you, I mean.”

She’d also never been pressed onto her back and kissed senseless on top of a van before, but she supposed there was a first time for everything.

____

They made one final stop for the night - to fill up on gas near the campground they’d found - and Arya kicked her feet up on the steering wheel, while Gendry manned the pump. Despite being firmly rooted in her seat, she vaguely felt like she was floating miles above her body. She never let herself get this carried away, always worked so hard to keep her emotions in check.

But if he ran his hand through his hair one more blessed time, she swore she’d lose her wits. 

____

**arya:** soooooooooooooooo

something…has occurred

**sansa:** gods above

just tell me you’re using protection

**arya:** um, hi. i think u have the wrong sibling. it’s me, arya.

we’ve only kissed, jerk

we’ve kissed like ten thousand times

but still

**sansa:** and when did this happen?

**arya:** pretty much all of yesterday

and as much as we could today without me crashing the car

**sansa:** alright goodness, i get it

how do you feel about all of it?

**arya:** i feel so much, all the time, always

really terrified. a little bit high tbh. mostly happy, i think

**sansa:** that’s all perfectly normal

as normal as this situation can be, i guess

**arya:** do you think i’m making a mistake?

**sansa:** no babe. i don’t

i just want to make sure you’re being careful

(not like that)

(you know what i mean)

**arya:** i know what you mean. i’m trying.

we’re taking it slow

**sansa:** slow is good

i meant what i said when he was here. i’m not the only stark sister who can pack a punch

**arya:** *mo’nique voice* i would like to see it

i have to go, he’s coming back. just wanted to keep you posted

i love you (gross). xx

**sansa:** thank you for telling me. i love you too (disgusting). xx

____

In her defense, the cover of night had fully settled, making her a bit biased, but regardless - Arya had a tough time imagining Harrenhal existing in the light.

She’d last been to the city when she was just a girl. Her father had brought her and Jon along when he had to travel south for a business trip, and they’d caught game three in a particularly contentious series against Dragonstone. The Giants had properly sucked that year, but Jon had bought Arya a glove signed by Lucas Lothston, and she was allowed ballpark nachos for dinner, so she only had fond memories of the visit.

Now, though - pulling into the nearly deserted campground, the landscape seemed suspended in a permanent winter, the trees completely barren and casting spindly shadows on the forest floor. It felt a little bit like the life had been sucked out of it - only the fragile framework of a more vibrant time remained. Slate and stone dulled further by the darkness, color seemed to have no home there at all. Despite the warm evening air, Arya instinctively pulled her sweatshirt tighter around her body when they got out of the van to survey their surroundings for the next few days.

“Your haunted hill’s got nothing on this place,” she quipped, as they meandered along the gravel path toward the edge of the lake on which the campground sat.

“And yet, you had my arm in a death grip that night,” he said with a smirk. “What should I expect tonight?”

She stopped to lean against a tree, to stare out across the dusky water, arms still folded across her chest. Gendry settled behind her, wrapping his arms around her middle and resting his chin on her shoulder. His breath by her ear sent a wave of goosebumps across the back of her neck.

“Preferably this exact position, horizontally,” she answered. He hummed pleasantly.

This time of night was usually when Arya took her mental inventory. She was shit at journaling - dozens of spiral-bound notebooks littered her shelves, containing all of her valiant attempts at getting her thoughts down on paper. No, she found much more solace in running through a checklist in her head. She got that from her mother - funny that the ritual made her feel so fond of, so connected to Catelyn, when the majority of the feelings she found the need to sort through were the result of their problems.

It was then, propped up against the base of the tree, encased in Gendry’s arms, that she decided to let someone else into her routine.

“How are we feeling?” she asked him. “How’s this going so far?”

His embrace tightened slightly, and he turned to bury his face in the crook of her neck, breathing her in, before placing a soft kiss below her jawline. “I think this has been the most exciting two days of my life.”

“It’s not too much?” she asked tentatively. He laughed against her skin.

“I’m the one who can’t keep his hands off of you,” he replied. “I’ve somehow managed to fit a month’s worth of pent-up affection into the past forty-eight hours.”

“You won’t hear a single complaint from me,” Arya said with a smile. “I just want to make sure we’re on the same page.”

“Well, what about you? How’s this going for you?”

She wished she could let the pleasant warmth flowing through her body, pooling everywhere he touched, answer his question for her.

“It’s, like…the best decision I’ve made in a while, probably,” she responded in its place.

____

They stood for a little while longer, and Arya bet Gendry that he couldn’t skip a rock across the lake. He, in fact, couldn’t, but he resigned to his punishment - having to give her a piggyback ride back to the van - more than happily.

As she’d requested, they mirrored their position by the tree when they settled in the back of the van - Arya’s back nestled against Gendry’s chest, his arm draped possessively around the dip in her waist, his chin resting perfectly in the divot of her shoulder.

She still didn’t set alarms for the morning - had even less of a reason to, now that she had a motivation to stay in bed. But she checked her phone briefly before closing her eyes for the night, smiling to herself when she saw that the date had changed. Gendry was already asleep behind her, but she lifted his hand anyway, from where it hovered over her stomach, pressed a kiss to its heel, and whispered a happy birthday into his skin.

____

These days were Arya’s favorite - waking up in a new place for the first time, still quite unfamiliar with what the town had to offer, countless directions in which the day could go. For someone who lived her regular life by a set schedule, she still preferred to make this - her life in the bubble, as she continued to imagine it - rather aimless.

She was grateful that, despite the new level of shy intimacy in their arrangement, they still allowed each other time to themselves - not that it was something either of them required permission for. She’d just known too many couples where one person completely suffocated the other. She and Gendry weren’t a couple, by the traditional definition, but - weren’t they? She’d drive herself mad if she thought about it for too long. But her introversion was a tough thing for a lot of people in her life to grasp. Gendry understood, though - and it made her impossibly fonder of him.

She had slipped out of his embrace just as the dawn started to break, had taken her time wandering down to the café at the end of the road. She’d picked up breakfast sandwiches and walked slowly along the shore of the lake back to the van, learning the morning sounds of her new environment. She hadn’t expected Gendry to be awake when she returned, but she glimpsed the back of his head, his dark hair, pressed against the side window as she approached.

“Did I wake you when I left?” she asked regretfully, as she opened the back door and climbed in. “I’m sorry.”

He had his knees pulled up to his chest, looking at something on his phone. When he looked up to meet her eyes, his looked red.

“Don’t apologize,” he told her softly. “I’m quite cold, though,” he added with a wink.

She shuffled toward him, beaming at the sight of his outstretched arm, ready to draw her into his side. She tucked in next to him, bringing her own knees up to curl closer.

“What are you up to, old man?” she asked teasingly.

“Hey, I’ll have you know that I was born at six-thirty in the evening. I’m still young and spritely,” he replied, kissing the top of her head at the sound of her quiet laughter. He picked his phone up then, from where he’d placed it at his other side, and showed her what he’d been looking at.

“Stop,” she gasped. Her eyes darted between Gendry’s tired face and the one staring back at her in the photo on his screen. She’d recognize that mean-mug anywhere. It was the same one that had featured heavily in her dreams every night between Highgarden and King’s Landing - with much less aged intensity, though, since the boy in the picture couldn’t have been any more than a few years old.

“This was my third birthday party,” he said quietly. “I was pissed, because one of the boys in my nursery school class blew out my candles before I could.”

“Did you teach him a lesson?” she asked with a snort.

“I think I probably got distracted by the dinosaur cake and forgot about it,” he replied with a laugh. He zoomed in slightly on the hand resting on his younger self’s shoulder, and Arya could make out the tips of long blonde hair dangling at the top of the frame.

“That’s my mum,” Gendry said. “She was like you,” he professed, glancing down at her, where she remained burrowed into his side. “Hated her own birthday but loved other people’s. Especially mine.”

“Is that why you hate yours?”

“Yes and no,” he sighed. “It doesn’t help that she’s not here. But I’ve also never been partial to…being the center of attention.”

“I get that,” she said with a nod. “I’m not sure I mind attention so much when it’s coming from you, though.”

He hummed happily. “I’m inclined to agree.”

Arya couldn’t help herself - she tugged gently on the neckline of his shirt, shepherding his face down until it was level with hers, kissing him softly. She found she’d succeeded in warming him up, as he dropped his phone and raised his hand to rest at the nape of her neck. She pictured him building a fire while she closed her eyes, something he’d done countless times for her at this point.

She decided she couldn’t think of an image that was more definitively _Gendry._

“Let me show you something,” she whispered when they broke apart. She reached across the back of the van to where she’d left her phone, retrieving it and scrolling through the endless pictures that had been sent in her sibling group chat. She eventually found what she was looking for and grinned.

“Check it out,” she said, tilting her screen up to show him. “She would’ve kicked that candle blower’s ass.”

She watched his face light up, as he stared down at a picture of four-year-old Arya, strawberry popsicle smeared all over her face on the front steps of her parents’ house, glaring daggers into the camera.

“Unbelievable,” he laughed. “You reckon we would’ve been friends?”

“Oh, no doubt about it,” she said decisively. “We would’ve torn shit up.”

“We’re kinda doing that now, though, aren’t we?” he chaffed, pulling her closer.

The joke was stupid, but his eyes were fatally blue against the ashen landscape outside, so she shook her head and kissed him again.

____

“Remind me why we decided to do this.”

“It looked interesting! You said so!”

“Aye, I sure did,” Gendry whispered. “Would you call this ‘interesting,’ though?”

Arya stifled a laugh. “I don’t think this woman knows what inflection is,” she hissed.

They’d signed up for the last two slots on a group tour of some haunted ruins after sundown. It was marketed as a ‘high thrills, cold chills adventure through medieval Harrenhal.’ Five minutes into the tour, they’d quickly learned that that description was laughable.

He grabbed her by the elbow, forcing both of them to stall toward the back of the crowd. She looked up at him confused, as he waited for the group to disappear around the corner of the dilapidated castle wall.

He cleared his throat before he spoke. “I’m cashing in,” he asserted.

A slow grin creeped onto her face in understanding, and she turned to face him fully, grazing his arms with her fingertips until her hands reached his broad shoulders.

“Are you now?” she asked flirtatiously. “What’ll it be, birthday boy?”

His eyes darkened at her tone. “Think the Ghost of Harrenhal would mind if we made out against the wall of its house?”

“If we wind up getting murdered, I’ll come back and haunt this place myself,” she determined, already dragging him into the shadows.

____

The heat on the day of the Giants game was sweltering. Arya eyed Gendry’s biceps admiringly when he rolled the sleeves of his t-shirt onto his shoulders. He looked at her similarly when she emerged from the van before breakfast wearing a backwards cap.

They talked all afternoon about baseball. She told him about her last trip to Harrenhal, about sneakily live-streaming the victory parade during fifth period the year that the Giants won the championship, about how everything about the sport reminded her of Jon. He told her about his mother taking him to his first game when he was a kid, about playing second base on his high school team, about meeting Walter _fucking_ Whent at a random bar in King’s Landing.

She held his hand the entire drive to the stadium.

____

“They’re on a first date, for sure,” Gendry said, pointing to a teenaged couple a few rows in front of them, as Arya returned to their seats with two more beers. “They haven’t spoken a single word to each other, and the girl’s been on her phone the whole time.”

“I mean, I don’t blame her. This game is a yawn,” she responded, slumping back into the plastic chair. “What about those guys down there?” she asked, signaling toward a group of men that looked to be much farther into their cups than the two of them were.

“They’re wearing blue, so that would be every middle-aged Riverrun fan to ever exist this season,” he quipped. “Drinking their pitiful feelings.”

It was the top of the seventh, and their people-watching was interrupted when Harrenhal abruptly brought the score up by three, pretty much sealing their playoffs spot. Arya and Gendry settled back into their seats several emotionally charged minutes later, cheeks flushed from the yelling and the beer and the early evening heat.

“The girls behind us,” Arya prompted, like they hadn’t missed a beat.

“Fraternal twins, separated at birth, reunited over their love of the Giants.”

“That one’s bold. I was just gonna go with roadies.”

“What do they think about us?” he asked, just like he had at the beach.

“Very subtle way to have the ‘what are we’ conversation,” she teased.

“Shut up.”

____

The Harrenhal win was hardly a surprise, but the fireworks were a pleasant one.

Sansa at fifteen would have eaten this shit up - standing next to her crush, watching the light show, watching the colors dance off of his face while he wasn’t looking. Trying to decide which dumb fireworks pick-up line to use - ‘your smile is brighter than the sky right now,’ or ‘let’s end this night with a bang,’ or something about a spark.

(Except not that last one, because this was more than a spark - much, much more.)

____

It wasn’t her fault - it was never someone’s fault when they were in her position - but she really should’ve been paying closer attention.

“D’ya have a light?” a man slurred, already halfway to invading her personal space before she was able to look up from her phone.

“No,” she said curtly, pushing off of the wall where she was leaning and moving closer to the bathroom door, from where Gendry was due to emerge at any minute.

“Aw, come on,” he continued, stumbling closer still. His eyes were bloodshot, and he reeked of something much stronger than ballpark ale. “I won’t bite.”

She categorically fixed her gaze over his shoulder, searching for someone, anyone, that might be witnessing this. Of course, the crowd was thinning, so her search was fruitless. Her lips remained pressed into a thin line, but she carefully slid her phone into her back pocket and flexed her fingers, curling both hands promptly into fists at her side.

The rest happened almost too fast for Arya to process.

“Pretty thing like you,” the man said, just as the bathroom door swung open. “This your boyfriend? Hey, I’m not tryin’ anything, man,” he continued, turning his attention to Gendry. The man took another step forward, reaching out in an attempt to grasp Arya’s arm, failing to do so, as she skirted his advance.

She felt Gendry’s chest puff behind her, but the man took another, more purposeful step, and she proved just how quick she could be - grabbing his limp wrist, pushing him over into a hunch by his locked elbow with her opposite forearm, and kneeing him unflinchingly in the stomach. The man groaned in pain, clutching his abdomen and dropping to the ground, despite his best efforts to stand and retaliate. Without a second glance, Arya took Gendry’s hand and led him swiftly away from the scene.

Neither of them spoke until they were outside the stadium walls. Gendry broke the silence, his voice low and trembling.

“You should’ve banged on the door or something.”

“And what? You would’ve swooped in to save the day, pants around your ankles?” she bit back, her voice coming out more heated than she expected.

“You could’ve fucking walked away, at _least._”

“I _know_ we’re not having this argument again. I can handle myself, Gendry,” she said firmly, stopping in her tracks on the sidewalk and turning to face him.

He sighed gruffly, clearly practicing incredible self-restraint in his endeavor to keep his temper. “Yes. You can,” he agreed, his jaw locked. “That doesn’t mean I have to like what just happened.”

Her eyes narrowed, but she could feel the tension in her shoulders begin to dissipate. “Fair enough,” she conceded. They continued to stare at each other for another moment, as their breathing evened out.

“I’m sorry,” he finally offered. They hadn’t released the hands they’d been holding - a fact Arya hadn’t realized until that moment - and he raised her knuckles to his lips. She gently squeezed his hand.

“You’re forgiven,” she said softly. “Only because your scowl is kind of adorable.”

“Well, that’s no good. I’ll have to work on that.”

They continued to walk in silence, Arya breaking it next. “You know,” she mused, “I’m still glad you stepped in that night. What if you hadn’t, and that one little difference kept us from getting to this point?”

“Arya,” he laughed, “even if you’d clocked those guys in the store, we’d still be here. That’s a guarantee.”

“How could you possibly know that?” she questioned.

“Because that,” he said, jerking his thumb behind them toward the stadium, “was the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. There’s no way I would’ve left your side.”

____

It started as a joke, because Gendry mentioned he’d been on the crew team for three years at university, and Arya thought that was just about the funniest thing she’d heard in a long time - his massive frame, crammed into a slender rowboat.

Funniest, but also hottest, because - arms. It always came back to the arms.

They grabbed towels and took a slow walk down to the lakefront of the God’s Eye the next afternoon and, next thing they knew, they were paying to rent a canoe for the rest of the day. She shivered when she caught Gendry staring at the strap of her bikini top under her loose-fitting t-shirt.

Much of the heat from the day before had died down, leaving behind a pleasant balm. They didn’t have a destination in mind - opting to just float along and let the light summer breeze carry them through the day. Arya bought lunch at the small stand by the rental hut, and Gendry bought another postcard, and they pushed off of the sand together.

The lake below them lay flat as a mirror, not a single inkling of life below the surface. It smelled of fern, and the farther they drifted from land, the stiller the air became, the sounds of the ripples from their oars the only thing that filled the space. Arya felt lucky to be in the company of someone who seemed to soak in silence as well as she did - they both inhaled deeply, let out quiet thrums of approval, unabashedly took each other in from their opposite seats.

The undertone was loaded with excitement - excitement that they had guardedly been building up for days - but it was also calm. Calm as still water.

____

They rowed toward a shallow-looking bank to pause for a late lunch. Gendry’s phone chimed with a text message, as Arya steadied the boat on the rocks. She turned to face him and halted at the sight of his tense expression.

“Do I need to knock someone else out?” she asked, attempting to soften his face. It worked, but his brow remained furrowed.

“No, it’s not like that,” he placated. “I’m…it’s just a lot.”

She took a seat on a small patch of grass and began unpacking their sandwiches. “Anything I can help with?” she asked, genuinely prepared to offer him anything.

He crouched down to settle next to her and exhaled slowly. “I don’t know,” he started. “I’m still trying to figure out what to do, I guess.”

“Is it an inheritance thing?”

He paused. “It’s…a job offer,” he muttered. “Something in Winterfell.”

Arya’s stomach flipped, remembering the voicemail he’d gotten before. Gendry had never mentioned any sort of connection to the North before, still didn’t know where exactly she was from. The prospect of things lining up this way felt like divine interference - it felt too good and not real and, ‘I just want to make sure you’re being careful,’ she heard her sister say in her head. She took a steady breath. ‘Careful,’ she repeated to herself.

“That’s amazing,” she insisted warmly, doing her best not to expose the absolute chaos going on inside of her. “I didn’t realize you were applying for things.”

“I haven’t been,” he said quickly, almost sharply. “I didn’t…I wasn’t really keen on returning to work so soon after…everything.”

“So, where did this offer come from?” she asked carefully.

He took another frustrated breath. “Some friend of my father’s,” he grumbled. “Somehow got my information from my uncles and wants me to come work for him, I guess.”

“And you don’t want to?”

“It sounds like a great opportunity,” he said measuredly, like he had practiced the words in his head. Like he was talking to this old family friend, and not to her. “Honestly, I’d be stupid not to take it. I just…” he said, stopping himself. “I struggle with being handed things. I don’t want something I didn’t work for.”

“Well, this guy must not think you that incompetent, if he’s reaching out this often,” Arya offered. “Maybe…”

She didn’t finish her thought. ‘Maybe,’ what? ‘Maybe you should take it, because I live in Winterfell, and I think I might love you, and this is perfect, and so are you?’ She recognized his discomfort, knew it intimately herself, and she couldn’t - she _wouldn’t_ \- bring herself to be the reason he did something he didn’t want to do.

He didn’t seem to notice that she’d trailed off. He picked at the grass by his boot.

“I don’t know what I want to do,” he reiterated, “but I know I like to earn things. Feels sort of wrong this way.”

“You’ve been through a lot, Gendry,” she said. “I think you’ve earned a great opportunity.” She was still holding back, but that much felt important to say.

He laughed lightly. “You sound like him,” he replied, stretching his legs out in front of him and moving to lay on his side, facing her. “It’s an open offer, so I have some time. I’m just-“

“Trying to get over yourself?” she teased, turning to face him more fully.

“I guess that’s one way to put it,” he said with a smile, rolling his eyes.

She reached out a hand, combed her fingers through the mop of hair on his head - it had grown out since they set off a month ago. She didn’t say anything, kept her eyes focused on the movement of her hand, felt his relaxed breath on the inside of her wrist. When she looked down, his eyes were closed contentedly.

“You deserve to be happy,” she said softly. His eyes fluttered open.

“Lucky I’ve got you, then, aren’t I?”

____

They rowed for another hour after lunch, stopping again when they saw a cluster of daffodils in a field off of the shore. She took pictures, and he picked her two, and she tucked them behind her ear.

They’d left their shoes behind, and the walk back to toward where they’d docked was rocky, so Gendry scooped her up like a blushing bride and carried her back to the boat. Her arms were fastened securely around his neck, and he held all of her weight in one arm, while he brought one hand to her cheek and kissed her - deep and deliberate.

“You might be my best friend,” she told him, their foreheads pressed together.

He smiled - the kind where his eyes nearly squinted shut. She traced the corner of one with her thumb.

“You’re definitely mine,” he whispered back.

____

“Fucking hells, Arya,” Gendry said, running a hand down his face. “Are you joking?”

She’d peeled off her shirt and shorts to take a dip in the lake - feeling pretty pleased that she’d settled on the black two-piece that Sansa said made her look like Demi Moore in Charlie’s Angels. She always thought that was a pretty ridiculous assessment, but she wasn’t mad at it, at the moment.

“Um, excuse me,” she said, “I don’t know that you have room to talk.” She aimed for composure but turned away from him to wade into the water, failing to suppress what she imagined was a rather insane-looking grin.

She heard soft, hurried footsteps behind her, felt him step into the lake and promptly splash her exposed back. She already knew what to expect when she turned to face him, but that didn’t stop her eyes from widening appreciatively.

He moved slowly toward her, his gaze fixed on her midsection. His hands started to raise out of the water before he even reached her, coming to rest on her ribcage when he finally did. Still not meeting her gaze, the fingers of his right hand stroked her side.

“When were you gonna show me this?” he asked quietly. She didn’t understand what he meant, but she looked down and remembered - the small weirwood tattoo she’d gotten on her twenty-first birthday.

She smiled, bringing her own hands to settle on his forearms. “I forget it’s there, honestly,” she said.

His grip on her sides tightened slightly, and she heard his conscious swallow. “I’m a big fan,” he managed.

“Do you have any?” she asked, rubbing up and down his arms lightly.

He laughed and met her eyes then. “That’s for you to find out.”

She made a show of scanning up and down his bare chest, taking advantage of the opportunity to ogle him without shame. “Unless you’ve got a tramp stamp hidden under those trunks, you look pretty uncorrupted to me.”

His arms moved slowly down her torso, snaking around her waist and settling behind her. She thought fleetingly about trying to cover up - she’d never stood so vulnerably in front of someone for so long without trying to hide some part of herself - but that would have required relinquishing her hold on his arms. Behind the hunger, the utter fascination in his eyes, she still saw an unmatched tenderness, and that, above everything, was what deterred her.

“You gonna corrupt me, captain?” he murmured, drawing her toward his hips by the small of her back.

She let her thrill at the low timbre of his voice propel her forward, let her fling her arms around his neck and pull him into a bruising kiss, one that he responded to just as eagerly. His hands on her back moved to skim over her backside, brushed dangerously close to her center, as he grabbed her by the thighs and wrapped them around his stomach. She was used to tilting her head up to meet him, used to feeling downright defenseless beneath his towering figure when they did this, so this new perspective spurred her onward. She worked her mouth relentlessly against his, relished in the feeling of his light scruff against her neck when he moved his head down. He was sure to leave marks - she wasn’t sure she’d be able to hide her disappointment if he didn’t.

“This,” he started, continuing his assault across her jaw, under her chin, down her cheeks, “this was one of my dreams.”

“Yeah?” she asked breathily, gripping the back of his head, as if he were even thinking about stopping. “How did it end?”

He laughed devilishly into her skin, slowed his attention minutely, strengthened his grip on her legs.

“Like this,” he muttered, tossing her back into the lake.

He was lucky he was cute, really. She never let anyone handle her like that. But she hoped he knew by now that she’d let him handle her in almost any way he wanted.

Judging by the look on his face after he emerged from the water, after being dragged down with her, he definitely did.

____

Their last days in Harrenhal were lazy - they went back to their roots, in a way. Spent the daylight by the water, learning everything they could about each other’s lives and hoping they’d never stop. Spent the evenings side by side watching movies, (slowly learning everything they could about each other’s bodies, hoping they’d never stop).

He asked her again - commanded her, rather - on their last night. With her tank top strap halfway down her shoulder, her right ankle hooked around the back of his thigh, his hands tangled in her hair.

“Go out with me.”

“You don’t think we’re past that?”

He bit her earlobe. “I don’t wanna be past it.” She arched her chest into his. “I want you to go out with me.”

“You’re very bossy,” she muttered under her breath, not a trace of annoyance in her voice. He moved his face back to hers.

“That’s nothing, love,” he said against her lips. She smiled into his kiss.

“Love?” she asked, his bottom lip between her teeth.

His hands left her hair, bracketing the sides of her face, as he hovered over her. He looked sinful like that - properly kissed, hair mussed, nostrils flaring with desire. He shrugged.

“Felt like switching it up.”

____

Catelyn texted her while they sat at dinner. A wolf emoji - she had different ones for each kid. They were her ‘I love you’ messages. They were also her ‘I know I upset you, but rather than apologizing, I’ve decided to push it swiftly under the rug’ messages.

Arya sent her one back and slipped her phone under her thigh for the rest of the meal.

____

“Can I get you two anything else? Dessert, coffee?”

“Brownie or cheesecake?” Arya prompted Gendry.

“Brownie _and_ cheesecake,” he told the server.

“Oh, child,” the older woman said, “he’s a keeper.”

Arya smiled politely at her, raising an eyebrow at Gendry when she flipped her notepad shut and walked away.

“Seems like _I’m_ the one that’s rubbed off on you,” she teased.

“Don’t get used to it,” he laughed. “This is strictly first date behavior.”

“Spinach only on the second date. Got it.”

“You sure you’ll get a second date?”

She’d kicked her shoes off halfway through the main course, and she slid her foot midway up his calf under the table. She kept her eyes on his knuckles where he cradled his glass of water, waited until they turned white before she spoke again.

“Positive.”

____

It was drizzling when they left the restaurant, but they’d walked there from the inn where they were staying for the night. Neither of them seemed too hurried.

“What are some more strictly first date behaviors?” Arya asked, as they finally approached their door.

“Definitely taking her back to my hotel room,” he said sarcastically, holding the door open for her. “Obviously.”

She snorted - tossed her shoes off once more, into a corner, but didn’t say anything. She moved toward her bag, trying to cover the sudden insecurity that washed over her by rummaging through her clothes. Her back turned away from Gendry, she heard him sit on the armchair next to the bed to take off his loafers. She thought she’d be able to let the lapse in confidence pass without discussion, but he sensed the shift - she should have guessed that he would.

“Hey,” he said softly, “where did you go?”

She turned to face him, tucked a loose lock of her hair behind her ear. “I’m right here,” she joked.

“Arya.”

She sighed then. “It’s nothing,” she assured him. “It happens sometimes.”

“Did I say something wrong?”

“No,” she quickly replied. She felt a flash of self-loathing. This - this was why she didn’t do all of this. The image of someone sitting in front of her, thinking that they were the cause of her destructive thoughts - it was precisely what she couldn’t handle.

He stood to walk toward her but seemed to sense that she didn’t want to be crowded. He stayed on his feet, though - an open-ended invitation.

She took a deep breath. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?"

“For shutting off.”

“Why do you need to be sorry for that?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then I don’t want to hear you apologize.”

She smiled at that. “This is the part where I usually give up.”

“Which part?”

“The first date,” she said quietly, laughing in spite of herself.

“Hold that thought,” he said abruptly, pointing to her open bag. “Get changed.” He knelt to the floor beside the armchair and fished out his own sleep clothes, jogging past her toward the bathroom.

She stripped in a rush, throwing on the first shirt and shorts she could find among her things. Somehow, she’d managed the worst possible color combination, but she thought fondly of Gendry’s consistently mismatched evening ensembles and leaned against the dresser.

He strode out of the bathroom and over to the bed, throwing back the comforter and sliding between the sheets. Only when his head hit the pillow did he look back to where she stood, lifting the duvet back up, as if to beckon her toward him. The silent gesture made her heart skip a beat.

She walked over, careful steps, and slid into bed beside him. The hand holding the comforter fell instinctively onto her hip, and she rolled onto her side, folded right into his chest. His chin rested on top of her head - she smiled thinking about how the number of times they’d been in this position in real life had finally surpassed those instances from her dreams.

“Why do you give up after the first date?” he asked finally.

“I don’t know how to explain it,” she said. “Something in my brain just tells me it’s not worth it. Like…I don’t know. Like there’s too much shit going on up there for another person to handle.”

“Shouldn’t that be for the other person to decide?”

She shrugged.

“I understand the fear,” he said, starting to rub soothing circles on her back. “You can’t let it win, though.”

She’d heard the words before, enough times to desensitize their meaning. But she’d never heard them from someone like Gendry - someone who stood to feel the effects of her letting fear win.

“The head plays tricks on us,” she said, repeating the mantra she’d listened to so often from her therapist. She said it more to herself than to Gendry, but he hummed in agreement, all the same.

“You told me that I deserve to be happy,” he murmured into her hair. “You do, too.”

She felt her eyes prickle with tears at that, and she blinked them away, pressing her nose more firmly into the space below his chin. She sniffled softly, causing him to lean back.

They stared at each other for a moment, and his hand moved from her back to her face, gently wiping away the moisture under her right eye. She unwittingly sighed, sniffled again, smiled at him. His hand stayed on her cheek.

“I always want to remember you like this,” he whispered. The room was nearly pitch-black now, but she rolled her eyes anyway.

“How? A fucking mess?”

She felt his head shake, felt his hand move back to where it lay before, felt him press a kiss to her forehead, leaving his lips to rest on her flushed skin.

“Beautiful,” he whispered again.

____

They fell asleep just like that - facing each other, suspended in perhaps the most intimate moment they’d shared yet.

On the dresser across the room, Arya’s phone buzzed with an incoming call. If it had been closer, she would have heard it, would have _certainly_ answered it when she saw Jon’s name on the screen. Probably would have answered in a bit of a panic, really, since he hardly ever had time to call, let alone in the middle of the night.

Instead, it went to voicemail, and the phone vibrated a moment later with a series of texts that would make her heart lurch when she read them in the morning.

____

**jon:** i tried calling, but i’m sure you’re asleep. ring me back when you can

realized that i’ve probably freaked you out, sorry. nothing to worry about. it’s good news

i’m on my way home <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok i knooooow i've subscribed to the 'gendry is a taurus' headcanon in other fics, but he is a puddle of emotion in this story, so i felt like making him a cute lil cancer! taurus can be his moon sign idk. let me have this
> 
> (thank you all again for your continued encouragement. i feel like the absolute luckiest 💜)


	8. harrenhal to the eyrie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> featuring - weapons and pies and turning points

Every happy memory Arya had of her life, all twenty-five years of it, somehow involved Jon Snow.

He wasn’t her brother in name - or fully in blood - but her parents took him in when he was just a baby, and he was the closest thing to a brother she could think of, half the time.

He taught her how to ride a bike without training wheels when she was in primary school - and tenderly bandaged her skinned knees every time she fell off. He was the only member of her family that had never missed a single one of her ballet recitals or karate tournaments or geography bees. He dropped everything to stay home and watch old episodes of Friends with her when she skipped her junior prom - because she couldn’t find a date and she didn’t have a ton of friends that year and prom was stupid, anyway.

They were the only ones who stayed away from the media and skipped charity galas and kept low profiles. She’d even convinced him to join her, one of the times that she’d tried to run away from home. He always kept his bedroom light on until he saw hers go out - every night, after she confided in him about her depression - because he knew that meant she was finally going to try for sleep, and he wanted to make sure she knew he was available to talk, if she needed.

He helped her move into university, and they FaceTimed every Wednesday night at eight o’clock, and he was a primary source reference for her term paper on modern Westerosi military tactics for some Gen Ed course. (Her professor kept that essay as a sample to use for future classes.)

He’d already been living away from home for years at that point, so they were used to keeping up a long-distance connection, and they didn’t miss a beat. Through Arya’s whole first year away, they grew closer - if possible. And then he got his first orders.

Jon’s deployment wasn’t all that different from their arrangement as it had been, in a lot of ways - they had already been limited to less than a handful of in-person visits every year. But Arya hadn’t been prepared in the slightest for the decline in contact. Only when he had dropped nearly off the grid did she realize just how dependent, how reliant she’d been on his constant availability. She sort of spiraled, and it made her feel selfish - selfish, that she couldn’t feel proud or supportive or happy for him that he was doing what he’d dreamt of doing since he was a kid. She could only feel selfish and sorry for herself.

Even that first deployment, though, did good things for her eventually. Only Jon Snow could manage to help her in every single fathomable way, including practically falling off of the map. It quickly became sink or swim for Arya, and she had made so much - _too_ much - progress. She couldn’t sink.

During the year that Jon was gone, she found Dr. Forel. She grew closer with Sansa, with Bran, even with Robb and Rickon. She grew a backbone. She let herself fall in what she thought, at the time, was love. She let her desire for continued progress be spurred by the even stronger desire for Jon to be proud of her when he came back, and that felt wrong at first, but progress was progress, and she should’ve known that he would never truly leave her, no matter how far away he seemed.

And he was proud. Still was, too. By the time he left again, she knew exactly what she needed to do to stay afloat. She set up weekly check-ins with Sansa, instead - so she could dote on her newborn niece and get tours of her home renovations. She flew home from Oldtown to surprise her dad for his birthday, and she set up healthy boundaries with her mother - boundaries that clearly continued to be tested but were still boundaries, nonetheless.

Jon called her when he could, even when he only had two minutes and she could only make out every other word he said, because the reception at Last Hearth had been fine, but it was shit all the way up in Castle Black. He was supposed to be gone for two years, but two turned into three, and the moment that Arya realized she was fine was one that she desperately wished she could’ve told her nineteen-year-old self about. She still had low moments, more than she sometimes knew what to do with, but she was alive, and she was fine.

Jon Snow - however near or far - would always be the person that taught her how to celebrate that.

____

She could even give credit to Jon for her meeting Gendry, since it was Jon that she was on her way to see in the first place.

He reminded her of him - Gendry, of Jon. They had the same scowl and the same deep belly laugh and the same intangible softness, underneath their sharpened exteriors. They were the two quickest people she’d ever met to correct her when she was being self-deprecating. They both loved baseball, and they both loved the outdoors, and they both loved her, she thought.

No, she couldn’t be certain - even in light of his wine-induced confession. And she couldn’t dwell on it for too long without feeling dizzy. But, yes, she was pretty sure - Gendry loved her. And she was even closer to certain that she loved him back.

They were both expertly dancing around those deeper feelings, in favor of frivolity - in favor of letting after be after. They had agreed upon that much. But each confirmation that the other had their seatbelt on, each apology, each ‘you deserve to be happy’ - they all had her wondering if they hadn’t actually professed their love for each other a long time ago. If their situation was a dance, then small moments like those were the music, and it was music she’d gladly keep on repeat.

Arya read that Jon was coming home, and - for a moment - the entire world around her stopped. She tried to call him back, to no avail - settling for a litany of enthusiastic text responses instead. He wasn’t due home for another six months. If every surprise could be that sweet, perhaps she wouldn’t hate them so much.

But then her heart rate returned to normal, and she was only left with more questions. The entire crux of this trip was to visit Jon, and he was no longer waiting for her at the finish line. The entire catalyst for Gendry’s joining her was to visit a place he’d never been. Changing course would mean biting the bullet and revealing all she’d been holding back, and - no, definitely not. She wasn’t ready for that. How much longer could she sit comfortably in this bubble, though? How long before she couldn’t hide anymore?

Nearly every part of her couldn’t help but grow warm at the thought of moving back to Winterfell, having both Jon and Gendry there. With her, for good. She felt desperate for it. Like she had never asked for much in life, but the prospect was _right_ there, dangling in front of her, just far enough out of reach to make her crazy. But reaching for something that’s hovering over the edge of a cliff comes with the risk of toppling over, and one small part of her felt reluctant enough to overpower the rest.

Sure, she was arguably already falling - falling fast. But as a newcomer to the long game, she found she was quite fond of its perks so far.

She’d wait. They’d stick to the plan - _their_ plan, she remembered fondly - and carry on to the Wall. They were smart, Gendry said. They’d figure out what came next when they got there.

Every happy memory Arya had of her life, all twenty-five years of it, somehow involved Jon Snow. Not this one, though - she’d forge memories of the rest of this trip for just her and Gendry. She liked the sound of that.

____

“What’s been your favorite part of this trip so far?”

“An early morning walk in Acorn Hall comes to mind.”

“Besides that,” Arya laughed from the driver’s seat.

Silence persisted for a few moments in the space next to her, and she heard Gendry hum thoughtfully. The low rumble of his voice, even when he spoke no words at all, never failed to thrill her.

“I liked Ashemark,” he said finally.

Her eyes widened. That surprised her. “Which bit?”

He shrugged. “All of it, I guess.” He reached over to absentmindedly graze the back of her neck while she drove - something he’d been doing a lot lately. Something that, growing up, she often noticed her father do when her mother was driving. The comparison made the corners of her lips twitch.

“It was the first night we slept next to each other,” Gendry continued.

She glanced over at him inquisitively, leaning back into his palm in the process. “No, it wasn’t.”

“I’m not counting Lannisport.”

“Sleeping next to you in Lannisport nearly made me lose my shit,” Arya said. “It needs to be counted.”

“I’d love to see you lose your shit,” he murmured, tugging lightly on the hairs at the nape of her neck and laughing openly at her flustered reaction.

“Fine,” he conceded. “It counts. But, really…Ashemark was the game-changer for me.”

She smiled slowly. He didn’t know yet, but he had stolen her answer - the bastard. “How so?”

“It was…I’m not sure how to explain it. I guess it just…I felt like that’s when you started to let me in.”

“In…to the van?” she teased.

“Will you stop?” he blurted out, laughing through all three syllables. “No, I just…I don’t know. Things felt different. I know we almost kissed before we even got there, but…I don’t know,” he said again, clearly struggling to find the right words. “Was I reading too much into it? Don’t you think we got closer?”

Her smile grew. “Ashemark was gonna be my answer, too.”

His mouth flew open, and he reached up to playfully yank her ponytail. She yelped and laughed at his exasperation. “How long were you planning to make me blubber like an idiot?”

“As long as I possibly can, if I’m honest.”

____

They were finally making their way out of the Riverlands.

It made Arya strangely sad - like they were leaving behind a chapter. It also made her incredibly happy, because they _had_ a chapter to leave behind, in the first place. And leaving behind chapters typically meant starting new ones.

____

But an hour outside of Harrenhal, they had no choice but to stop. They had planned to continue on until the sun started to set, but, listen - when one wrong turn suddenly finds you in the middle of nowhere, surrounded only by horses and small wooden stages and people in period costume, feeling like you’ve just been catapulted into the Middle Ages, giving you the most _supreme_ opportunity for people-watching…you stop.

It took them a while to find a spot at the campground that was acceptably removed from the more enthusiastic fairgoers, but once they did, they didn’t waste another minute of daylight. They wandered down the lanes of shoppes in the makeshift town, like something out of a storybook.

Gendry was particularly mesmerized by the blacksmith in the village forge, and even Arya had to admit that the weaponry - all seemingly made right there at the faire - was breathtaking. She told him he would look sexy hammering steel, and he bought her a sword, and they stole away behind a tent to make out for twenty minutes.

They snagged front-row seats at a medieval joust reenactment, and they didn’t understand most of the old-timey vernacular, but they cheered when everyone else did, and they got the hang of it soon enough. The winner of the tournament strode toward Gendry with a wreath of flowers, with instructions to crown someone something called ‘The Queen of Love and Beauty,’ and Arya rolled her eyes, because the crown was on her head before she could shoot him even the subtlest eyebrow raise.

They killed the final hour before dinner at the axe-throwing tent. Gendry had vehemently refused to participate, earning another eye roll when he claimed to be afraid of his own strength, but Arya had quickly found a new hobby. She hit the target nearly every time, and the employee running their stall joked to Gendry that ‘he’d better never hurt her.’

Dinner was a hodgepodge of leftovers and faire food; they desperately needed a restock. But, as always, they stayed around the fire long after the sunset - a stormy auburn, that night - faded.

At that point, Arya recognized all of the constellations, but she pretended to forget them, so Gendry would teach her again.

____

She awoke with a gasp.

It was true - there _was_ nothing that Arya loved more than to be lulled to sleep by the soft fall of rain. ‘Soft’ being the operative word. Thunderstorms - their very nature demanding the violent, tempestuous, decidedly _not_ soft fall of rain - had the opposite effect on her.

The first flash of lightning hadn’t fazed her, and the increasingly heavy pelting of rain against the windows of the van had simply made her grip her blanket a bit tighter, but the subsequent crack of thunder had made her shoot upright, jolting Gendry awake in the process.

“What? What’s wrong?” he asked urgently, a flurry of limbs. Their sudden movements rocked the van slightly more than the outside winds already were, causing Arya to steady her breathing for a beat longer.

“It’s…I’m…fuck,” she stammered, pausing to inhale and exhale deeply. “I hate thunderstorms.”

“Oh,” he said, his voice still hazy, but carrying a quiet concern. He rubbed his eyes - trying to see her more clearly, despite the darkness - and turned behind them to readjust his pillows. Leaning back into the makeshift bed, he lifted his arm in overture, much like he had the night before in the hotel. She had to quickly dispel her instinct to think herself unworthy of such care - a feat that proved even more challenging than usual, given the hour.

“C’mere,” he murmured, moving his other arm down to completely encircle her, as she slowly bent down to curl into him. They both sighed - him contentedly, her a bit shakily - when they settled together, and Arya’s breathing became more regulated with each pass of Gendry’s warm hand up and down her spine.

“Sorry for waking-“ she started, cut off by another explosion of thunder. Her muscles tensed again, and he shifted further onto his side to face her, giving him the perfect angle to leave lingering kisses on the top of her head.

“Just close your eyes. It’s okay,” he consoled her, keeping up his languid strokes across her back. She fisted his shirt - where her hand rested, just below his heart - a bit tighter.

“I try that every time,” she sighed. “It never works. I’ll probably be up until it stops.”

He made a noise of disagreement and shifted lower, so he could reach the top half of her face with his lips. He kissed along her hairline, her forehead, her eyebrows. “If you’re up, I’m up, captain.”

“Gendry, it’s fine,” she laughed quietly, dejectedly. “I’m used to it.” The rain continued to rattle the van, hitting it nearly sideways.

She felt one of his hands relinquish its hold around her waist, two fingers tilting her chin up. He kissed her sweetly, his mouth moving only a hairsbreadth from hers, so he could speak again.

“How ‘bout I distract you? Hm?” he whispered, leaning in for another, more suggestive kiss. And, gods, even if she _were_ unworthy of this kind of care, she was taking it anyway.

Her hand on his chest slid up and behind his neck to pull him even closer, and his remained under her chin - only for a moment, though, as he gently rolled her onto her back. His broad frame now hovering directly over her, he completely blocked her view of the outside. All she could see - all she could smell, all she could feel - was him. Another clap of thunder sounded, but, fuck, he was good - she was properly distracted.

The van shook marginally, and both of her hands flew up then to grip his shirt, but he took one of them in his own, kissed it, used it to guide his palm to her cheek.

“Use me,” he said quietly, sliding his hand down - down the side of her face, down her neck. Her breath hitched when she felt his heartbeat quicken. “My hand is yours. Put it where you want it.”

She exhaled sharply and dragged him down for a proper kiss, wasting no time in gliding her hand over his. She directed it nowhere it hadn’t been before - along her collarbone, over her breasts, down her side and onto her hip. She allowed it to roam in familiar territory until their kisses turned frantic, the intended meaning of the word ‘distraction’ becoming nearly impossible to ignore.

Her hands moved in tandem then - one to the back of his head to ensure he didn’t move from her pulse point, the other to extract his own from where it was intently rolling her nipple. She felt him smile against her neck when she guided it down to the waistband of her shorts, felt his hot breath on her skin when it moved downward still.

Without once stopping his attention to her neck, he rubbed between her legs, hummed low when she maintained her grip on his arm. She buried her face in his hair, letting the pitch blackness heighten her other senses. The storm raged outside, but wilder still was the storm in his eyes when he finally lifted his head in time to watch her come with a strangled cry, loud enough to rival the rain.

She kept her eyes open long enough to register being rolled back onto her side, weightless, back into Gendry’s arms - as if she’d never left.

The thunder boomed again moments later, but she didn’t stir.

____

The ground was wet and muddy under their shoes the next morning, but it seemed as though heavy rain was a common occurrence in this part of town - Lord Harroway’s Town, they learned. Even its name sounded medieval. The faire was set up like nothing had happened the night before.

They explored together, and then they explored separately, and when Arya found him again, Gendry was back at the forge - staring longingly at a war hammer.

“You should probably take it out to dinner first, at least,” she teased, approaching him from behind.

He turned, his eyes lighting up at the sight of her. “No luck?” he joked back, pointing to the several small bags she balanced on both arms.

“Nieces will drain your wallet. Don’t let their charm fool you,” she said. “But I found some cool jewelry for myself.”

He smiled softly, turning back to gaze at the artifact.

“Why don’t you get it?” she asked.

He scoffed. “No way. Too expensive.”

“You bought me that sword yesterday,” she reminded him, leaning forward to check the price. “That was _way_ more expensive than this.”

“I know,” he said, laughing lightly. “That was for you, though.”

“What does that matter?” she asked, but she already knew. She knew his feelings about his recent wealth, noticed that - aside from food and cheap postcards - he hardly ever bought anything for himself. She imagined it was more habit than anything, and she tried to imagine what it would feel like to have a massive font of money dropped into her lap unexpectedly. For the first time in a while, the walls of her bubble un-fogged, and she was reminded of her privilege. It was a feeling she hadn’t missed.

“I’m not gonna be that guy,” Gendry replied, with a bit more disdain than even he seemed to expect. “I’m…no. I can’t.”

“Can’t buy something nice for yourself, just because you want it?” she challenged. She was aiming for genuine, but she must have sounded hurt, because he whipped around to face her again.

“I didn’t…no, that’s not what I meant,” he said apologetically. “You should do that. People should do that. I just…I didn’t earn this. Any of it.”

“Gendry, you-“

“Deserve it, I know. You said that,” he cut in. “It’s not the same, though. As someone like you, who worked for their money, yeah?” Her stomach dropped. “I’m just sitting here, with more than I know what to do with, and there are so many people who will work ’til the day they die and never even see half of that.”

She didn’t quite know where to go from there. She did work for most of the money that she currently had - he was right. Years away from home had taught her how to be self-sufficient, how to find the principle to stand up to people like her mother, who favored money as a tool for manipulation and authority. But she’d be lying if she said Gendry’s reproach toward inherited wealth didn’t make her feel a little bit sick.

She hoped he would know her - love her, even - well enough by now to understand her hesitance to share her background, since she wholeheartedly shared his opinions. But as time went on, the more she feared his eventual…something - hurt, disappoint, anger - at her secret.

As usual, he was too wrapped up in his own thoughts to notice that she hadn’t responded. He spoke again, seeming to consider his words more carefully this time.

“I said I don’t like handouts, you know?” he reminded her. She nodded. “It’s all just a little bit too much for me. I might just give it all away, honestly.”

She smiled at that. She had plans of her own for her trust fund, plans of a similar philanthropic vein. Some wishful part of her pictured the two of them together, using their good fortune to make the world a better place. She wondered if he’d feel alright about having money, if he could just conjure that same image.

“I think you should, if that’s what you really wanna do,” Arya said, looping her arm through his and leaning her head against his bicep. “But I also think you should buy the hammer.”

He snorted and shook his head. “What am I gonna do with a hammer, anyway?”

“What am I gonna do with a sword?” she retorted.

“Fair point.”

“We could spar.”

“Well, _that_ wouldn’t be fair.”

She cocked an eyebrow. “Why not?”

“You don’t know how strong I am,” he said with mock pretension.

“You don’t know how quick I am,” she replied, matching his tone.

“You’re not gonna leave me alone until I get it, are you?” he asked, already reaching into his back pocket for his wallet.

“Come on. It’ll be cool.” She beamed when he made his way toward the vendor.

____

“Think if we lived back in this time period, we would actually use these things?” he asked, giving the hammer a few experimental swings, as they walked back to the van.

“I can picture it.”

“I don’t think women usually wielded swords back then, though.”

“Something tells me I’d find a way around that.”

“That’s hot.”

“Would you help me?” she asked. “Sneak around and buy me weapons?”

“I’d do you one better,” he said, switching the hammer to his outside hand, so he could grab hers. He pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “I’d make them.”

____

Gendry’s face lit up like a kid on Christmas when he found out they could go horseback riding on the wooded path behind the faire - apparently it was something he’d always wanted to do. Arya was in no position to deny him anything.

They rode side by side, and then Gendry rode ahead, and - frankly - he looked hilarious. From a distance, he looked as big as the fucking horse.

But he chanced a bit of a canter, and the wind whipped through his still-growing hair, and she thought that this feeling in her chest was probably the kind of thing that people wrote songs about.

____

Her new boss called her the next afternoon, as they were finishing up a late lunch - wanted to make sure Arya knew about the orientation retreat for new hires that she would have to attend in Deepwood Motte, sometime after her second week of work. They liked to give people time to plan ahead, he said.

What was meant to be a quick phone call turned into a nearly thirty-minute conversation about their shared alma mater, whether she would have her own office (she would), whether she would have to get there early on her first day to fill out any paperwork (she wouldn’t), and how to get on the front lobby receptionist’s good side. He sounded much more jovial over telephone than via email, and his enthusiasm to help her integrate made most of her nerves dissolve.

She sat in the back of the van through the duration of the call, her legs outstretched. Typically, she liked to pace and wander and fidget when she was on the phone, but there wasn’t much room for that then, so she resigned to just aimlessly swaying her feet back and forth. Gendry sat across from her, reading a book, the entire time. Occasionally, he shifted his own foot to kick hers, and she caught his eyes lifting from the pages each time she laughed.

Outside of chats with her family, it was the longest reminder of the real world that she’d had in a while. As the walls of her bubble continued to thin, the knot in her stomach contracted - but she tried to focus on the way the corner of Gendry’s eyes crinkled as he watched her talk about her job. The flashes of domesticity threatened to unravel her.

Neither of them spoke for a while after she hung up, an obscure bleakness hanging between them. Eventually, one of them suggested hitting the road, and they continued onward - leaving the moment behind.

A new delicate balance replaced their old one - the one they’d so fearlessly knocked off-kilter. Somehow, she could tell that pushing past this one wouldn’t be as easy.

____

They were _going_ to make it out of the Riverlands at some point, they swore. Really, they were.

“Tomorrow?” she asked, already knowing the answer. “We’ll just stay the night.”

The van sat idly in front of the bed and breakfast - they’d barely made it twenty miles outside of their last stop. Maybe they were more reluctant to close this chapter than she’d anticipated.

Gendry nodded in agreement, seemingly perfectly content with the arrangement. “After you, captain.”

____

It was the name of the place that drew them in, but the fact that the owner’s _actual_ name was also Hot Pie (or so he claimed) - that’s what sealed the deal.

“Room for two?” the portly man confirmed, looking them up and down mirthfully. He had bustled into the lobby from the kitchen, presumably, given the amount of flour adorning the front of his clothes. “You lot look like you’ve traveled a long way.”

Arya and Gendry shared a smile, a knowing expression on both of their faces.

“You could say that,” she replied.

“Well, you couldn’t have picked a more perfect day,” Hot Pie said, clasping his hands together excitedly. “I need test subjects for some new recipes. Got a small party coming through in a few weeks, and I’ve been fiddling around with a few of my classics.” He was practically vibrating, like he hadn’t had proper human connection in ages.

“Classics of what?” Gendry asked.

“Pies,” he responded, as if it were the most obvious answer in the world. “You like pies, right?”

____

“He seems lonely,” Gendry mused, as they ascended the narrow staircase to their room. “I wonder if he actually needs taste-testers, or if he’s just looking for company.”

“Would that be the worst thing?” Arya asked.

“No! Not at all,” he quickly corrected. “I’m just not used to someone seeing me and thinking, ‘That guy. I wanna be friends with that guy.’”

“It’s because of your resting bitch face.”

“My what?” he laughed.

She shrugged. “Don’t worry. I think it’s attractive.”

“Resting bitch face,” he muttered under his breath. “I suppose your resting face is just the picture of happiness, then.”

“No, I have it, too,” she shrugged again. “He must be pretty desperate.”

____

They returned to the main floor a short time later, and the unmistakable smell of compote and buttery crust hit their noses before they reached the bottom landing of the stairs. They’d heard muted movements of other guests in their rooms, but they still felt sort of like they were the only people in the entire place - besides Hot Pie, of course.

The owner in question came stumbling out from behind a set of swinging double doors, carrying a tray of piping-hot desserts, just as Arya and Gendry entered the dining room.

The light outside was already starting to dwindle, leaving the room to bathe in a pool of deep gold. The tables were long and inviting, the benches wooden and worn. Every detail of the space seemed intentional, and Hot Pie exuded an air of pride with each step he took. Arya asked him if he lived there, and he nodded emphatically. It was a nice feeling - being welcomed so ardently into someone’s home.

She felt a pang of sadness for Winterfell, wondering if it would feel the same.

____

The pies were served on what might as well have been a conveyor belt - cherry, key lime, rhubarb. The night outside quickly took hold, and Hot Pie brought out several pitchers of ale with his latest batch of hand tarts, and the three of them laughed louder, cheeks getting rosier, as the hours continued to pass.

“How is this place not booming?” Gendry asked, his mouth full of pie. He washed it down swiftly. “It’s fucking unreal.”

Hot Pie shook his head humbly and shifted in his seat across from them. He hadn’t eaten much, seeming much more comfortable just sitting back and judging their reactions. He took a slow sip from his glass of beer.

“Don’t have the budget to really market the joint,” he answered. “No one really knows I’m out here. I pretty much rely on people like you. Folks that are just passing through.” He smiled, as Arya wordlessly reached for a third slice of the peach crumble. “And word of mouth.”

“We’ll get the word out!” Gendry exclaimed. Arya laughed under her breath, pressing lightly into his side. She’d yet to meet a version of Gendry that she didn’t like, but she was quite partial to drunk Gendry.

Hot Pie grinned at his fervor. “M’okay with keeping it simple. Not really a big business type of guy,” he said, going for a tart. He waved his free hand in the air. “I’m no mogul. Not a…Stark of Winterhell, or whatever.”

Arya choked on her next bite. Gendry looked down at her curiously, patting her on the back, nonetheless.

“Sorry,” she coughed. “That just got me. It’s Winter_fell_,” she corrected him.

Hot Pie snorted. “You sure?”

“I’m sure,” she giggled.

____

The ale was sitting pleasantly in her stomach, in her knees, in the tips of her fingers - she wasn’t a lush, by any means, but she felt delightfully loose after several mugs. She could tell it was the kind of buzz that would wear off by the time she went to sleep, leaving her with little more than a dry throat in the morning.

Still, she felt lightweight as ever on her feet on the way to the bathroom, taking an extra few minutes to waver in front of the mirror after she was done. She stared back at her reflection, remembering the last time she had _really_ looked at herself like that, in the mirror at Acorn Hall. It felt like yesterday and a year ago, all at once.

She was well past falling, well past fallen - she had landed completely in love. The kind that burned hungry and hellish, sacred and smokeless. Her sister had once told her that being in love made her legs feel weak, but Arya’s stance had never felt stronger - like she was walking on air, but she knew she wouldn’t stumble, because how much farther could she possibly fall? She never really _got_ other people’s descriptions of love, and she still struggled to think of one that matched what she felt then, but she figured that was kind of the point.

With one last adjustment to her hair, she traipsed back out to the dining room, only to find that the men were now sitting on the same side of the table, both intently examining something on Gendry’s phone - the innkeeper looking curious and Gendry positively beaming with joy.

He looked criminally rugged - Gendry did. Like a stronghold and a pillow, all wrapped in one earth-toned package. Like a man grown. Hot Pie looked like Hot Pie.

“What are we looking at?” she asked, as she approached.

Gendry lifted his head and his smile grew at the sight of her. “Showing Pie some pictures from Lannisport.”

She grinned at the sound of his nickname, rounding the table to stand behind them and see the photos for herself. Her mouth quickly fell open, and she playfully smacked the back of Gendry’s head.

“You’re a shit liar, you know that?” she shrieked, leaning further over his shoulder to get a better look at the picture - of her, asleep, buried in the sand.

“Look at you. So peaceful,” he breathed sarcastically, reaching his arms behind him to wrap them around her legs. She raised her own arms to circle his waist, nuzzling the side of his face and resting her chin on his shoulder. She continued to grumble, even when Gendry turned his head just enough to kiss the corner of her eye.

“Did you guys really just meet a month and a half ago?” Hot Pie asked incredulously. “You could’ve told me you were husband and wife, and I would’ve believed you in an instant.”

____

They eventually called it a night, when the last of the candles burned out and the last of the ale was drained. Hot Pie retired to a room toward the back of the main level, and Arya slid her hand around Gendry’s upper arm on their trek up the stairs.

She’d barely shut the door behind them before she had him pinned to the wall. She pulled him into a crushing kiss, fueled by one-part ale and one-thousand parts pure desire. Gendry bit her lip lightly, snaking a hand down to hitch her leg onto his hip.

She pulled back, smirking when she opened her eyes to see him bending forward to chase her lips.

“What are _you_ afraid of?” she asked.

“Hm?” he questioned in a daze, his eyelids still fluttering.

“You _so_ kindly distracted me from the storm,” she purred, rubbing his chest slowly, feeling his stomach tighten with each pass of her hand. “I’d love to return the favor.”

The back of his head hit the wall, as he let out a sharp exhale from his nose. She pressed her palm more firmly against him, sliding it all the way to the base of his throat, before gliding it back down again.

“So?” she prompted.

He cracked his eyes open then, swallowing pronouncedly and surveying the room. “Um,” he stuttered, his breath catching in his throat, as she stepped closer still. He continued to look back and forth, and she delighted in the fact that he was playing along.

“Curtains,” he blurted out, his voice shaky. “Dark blue, satin curtains. Just like these. These ones, specifically.”

She had to bite her lip to keep her smile from completely consuming her. “They scare you?” she teased.

“Terrify me,” he answered quickly. “I’m shaking. Can’t stand the sight of them.”

She relinquished her lip and grinned triumphantly. “Well,” she concluded, reaching for his hand to place it on top of hers. “You know the drill.”

____

The next morning was lazy. Arya was used to feeling like she’d been hit by a bus when she slept in too late, but this trip was nothing if not adept at ensuring she’d never be the same again.

They took their morning coffee to-go, opting to walk together along the path surrounding the building - very reminiscent of their other walk, the one that changed everything. They signed yet another silent contract then - to soak in every last ounce of the Riverlands while they had the chance. The ever-misty air, the thick cover of the trees, every last bumbling insect and sprig of wildflowers. This place had been kind to them. Arya didn’t typically enjoy owing anyone anything, but she imagined she’d be forever in its debt.

Hot Pie prepared them some leftover desserts for breakfast - to Gendry’s chagrin and Arya’s delight - and the three continued their revelry, as if there hadn’t been any interruption. They showed him more pictures from their travels, asked him for recommendations for things to do in the Vale, and listened attentively while he explained his key to the perfect bread. (“The secret is browning the butter before making the dough,” he’d said. Arya had never baked bread in her life, but she’d make sure she remembered that.)

They eventually made it to the check-out counter to settle their bill, only for Hot Pie to refuse their payment. He made them swear they’d come back some day, and when they both assuredly agreed, Arya could tell it wasn’t an empty promise.

Gendry ridiculously insisted on carrying both of their backpacks on his stupidly broad shoulders, but he still held her hand, so she decided not to rag on the unnecessary chivalry. He bit his lower lip, as he maneuvered his other hand into his back pocket for the van keys, and Arya had a hot flash - remembering the last time he’d done that, the night before, when she’d slowly knelt to the ground in front of him.

Yes, she decided - she owed the Riverlands big time.

Arya nestled into the driver’s seat, fiddling with the seat adjuster at her side, while Gendry decided on some music to kick off their continued journey north. They got situated, and Gendry handed her the keys, flashing her a soft smile. It didn’t quite reach his eyes, which were focused on the lower half of her face, but the moment had passed before she could ask him what was wrong. Instead, she turned to face ahead, gripped the keys in her fist, turned them in the ignition, and-

Nothing.

____

“Are you messing with me?”

“Why would I joke about something like this?”

“Because you want more pie?”

“If I wanted more pie, I’d go in and get more pie. You know that.”

“I do, which is why I don’t understand going through all this trouble just to get more.”

“I’m not fucking around!” Arya exclaimed, trying the key again. “It won’t fucking start.”

Gendry ran a hand through his hair and reached over to try for himself. Still nothing.

“Believe me now?” she asked dryly. “Had to see for yourself just to make sure?”

“Piss off,” he grumbled, flopping back in his seat. “I don’t suppose you have any tools on board.”

“Nope. Just you.”

“_Arya_.”

“Sorry!” she yelled exasperatedly. She lifted one of her feet off of the floor and planted it on the seat, allowing her to rest her chin on her knee. “No! I don’t. I don’t have anything. And we’re in the middle of nowhere.”

Gendry sighed. “Hey,” he offered, placing a hand on her other thigh, “it’s fine. We’ll call a tow. Not the end of the world.”

“I’m trying really hard not to panic,” she said, in a rare display of transparency. She took a deep breath and removed the keys from the ignition. “Can’t you…” she trailed off, motioning toward the hood of the car. “Can’t you just fix it? You said you were good at fixing stuff.”

“Kinda hard to do that without tools, isn’t it?” he asked cheekily, reaching for his phone. She slumped back against the headrest, eyes closed and breathing through her nose, until she heard him get ahold of someone.

She barely paid attention to the phone call. There was something here, some cruel irony - being ready to take the next step forward, being held back by something out of her control. Of course, this would happen. She almost had to laugh.

“They’ll be here in twenty minutes,” he said when he hung up, reaching for her hand, the one closest to him, and kissing her knuckles.

“It’s gonna be fine?” she asked. She hated herself again for a second - how helpless and sophomoric she sounded. In that moment, she was just a rich girl who knew nothing about cars. Like that kid the first year of university that everyone always made fun of for not knowing how to do their own laundry. She wanted to be surer. And something gnawing inside of her told her she wasn’t just asking about the van.

He unfurled her fist, kissing her fingertips and bringing her palm up to cup his cheek. “It’s gonna be fine,” he confirmed. “Just a little speed bump.”

____

The two men that came to tow the van were gruff and crude - a harsh contrast to the hospitality they’d experienced in the last twenty-four hours from Hot Pie. Arya didn’t like the way they looked at her, like she was meek and unassuming. It only made her feel worse than she already did.

She hated the way they took a liking to Gendry even more, though. Like he was automatically credible just by being able-bodied and strong and unflagging. He was nothing more than cordial toward them, still stayed by her side the whole way to the shop, but she saw something behind his eyes that she didn’t recognize. A tentative enjoyment of their approval, almost.

She wasn’t quite used to sharing his attention in such a way, but she swallowed her resentment as best as she could. It was a brief ride to Brotherhood Towing & Auto Repair, and they would be on their way. Just a speed bump, she reminded herself.

____

It was definitely more than a speed bump.

“Well,” came one of the men’s muffled voices from under the hood, “the belt’s not slippin’, but I’m not convinced there’s not somethin’ wrong with it.”

Arya was leaning defeatedly against the far wall of the shop, absentmindedly watching the news on the muted television in the corner. Gendry was hovering directly behind the man, as he stood back upright and wiped his greasy hands on the front of his pants.

“Mind if I…?” Gendry started, gesturing toward the hood.

“Please!” the man - Thoros, Arya dimly recalled - conceded, eyes lighting up, like he’d been waiting ages for Gendry to join in. He stepped aside to give him room, a small smile playing on his face.

Arya had to confess that it was arousing - watching Gendry get his hands dirty. She’d had the image of him like this in her head, ever since he told her he liked to fix and build and design things. Watching him at work served as the perfect temporary interruption of her anxiety.

He’d turned toward the bench behind where the car was parked, picking up several tools of varying sizes and sticking them in his back pocket.

“Definitely not glazed, but let me tighten it for good measure,” he muttered, using some silver tool to do something that Arya couldn’t classify as anything other than something that made the veins in his forearms bulge.

“Anguy!” Thoros loudly called somewhere behind them. “Gonna see if he’s got a multimeter,” he told them more quietly. “You didn’t notice a warning light?” he asked, addressing Arya specifically, for the first time since they’d arrived.

“No,” she answered defensively, looking to Gendry for confirmation. He nodded in agreement.

Another man, presumably Anguy, emerged from a storeroom, promptly crouching below the workbench to rummage for the device that Thoros requested. Anguy retrieved it, along with a pair of safety glasses, and moved toward the vehicle to start working. Thoros threw out an arm to stop him.

“Let the lad get in there,” Thoros commanded, nodding toward Gendry. Anguy silently raised an eyebrow and handed over the tools.

The rest was a series of grunts and spurts of brief commentary on system outputs and voltages and something being ‘below spec’ and a bunch of other shit that Arya didn’t comprehend but could tell was not the answer she wanted to hear. She hated not understanding - she felt more out of her comfort zone with each passing minute.

All she knew was that they somehow concluded that the van needed a new accelerator, and that seemed like a much bigger speed bump than Gendry had promised. And when _that_ bombshell spiraled into the realization that they would have to _order_ the replacement part, leaving them effectively stranded for the next few days - she sensed that the playing field between her and the Riverlands was evening out pretty fast.

____

“You remind me of my son,” Thoros slurred later that evening.

They’d had a bit of a sullen afternoon, in the wake of the realization that they wouldn’t be leaving any time soon. Arya had been itching to get to the Vale - she’d been excited for Gendry to experience the glassy architecture of the Eyrie, and they’d both been dying to reach the Snakewood Forest. The waterfalls were supposed to be crystal clear that time of year.

After the initial excitement had died down, even Gendry had seemed disappointed. He’d declined Anguy’s offer of a round of darts, in favor of curling up with Arya under a tree a few yards away to watch a movie on her laptop.

Still, though, she felt like something had shifted. She’d caught him a few times, lost in thought, even more than he normally was. His smile had been blinding when she’d suggested that he go hang out in the shop for a bit while she tried calling Jon again. She was almost hurt by how eager he’d been to go, but he’d also left her with a kiss passionate enough to set the entire forest on fire, so she’d repressed it.

Now, they were crowded into one of the shop’s back rooms, passing around a bottle of whiskey. She hadn’t been able to drink whiskey since that one night during her second year of university, but…anything to make all of this more tolerable.

“That a compliment?” Gendry asked with a laugh.

“Huge,” Thoros said. “Lost him around this time two years back. He had a knack for this stuff, too,” he continued, gesturing toward the main repair floor.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Gendry offered. “But I’m nothing special. S’all just a hobby, really,” he said humbly.

“Fuck that,” Anguy chimed in. “You’re bloody good.” He turned toward Arya then, jerking his thumb back toward Gendry. “You’re lucky you found this kid.”

“I know,” she said curtly. She was aware she was being cold, but she couldn’t be bothered. She knew she wouldn’t even be included in this whole hangout if it were up to the Brotherhood.

Gendry seemed to sense her lukewarm attitude and shifted closer to her, sliding a hand under both of her thighs and swinging them over his lap. He threw his arms around her neck, having no choice but to bend slightly because of the height difference, and kissed her sloppily on the cheek.

“I’m the lucky one,” he said, too quietly to be for anyone’s ears but hers.

____

Arya slipped away at some point for some air and found herself dialing her sister. She was a different kind of drunk than she’d been the night before - this one was every bit as sluggish as the other had been lighthearted. She should’ve expected nothing less from whiskey - they had a rocky history.

She vaguely registered that Sansa was likely asleep, but she was relieved when her sister answered, sounding wide awake.

“Arya? You alright?”

“M’fine,” she grumbled.

“You don’t sound fine,” Sansa said tentatively. “I thought you’d be happier the next time I talked to you. Didn’t you hear the news about Jon?”

“Yes,” Arya replied sharply. She didn’t call Sansa just to be a bitch. She didn’t exactly know why she _had_ called, since she was clearly not in the driver’s seat of this conversation. What she needed was to breathe.

“So, I guess you’ll be swinging by Winterfell with your boyfriend, then?” Sansa teased.

She groaned at that. “He’s not my boyfriend. And he…” she trailed off.

Sansa was quiet, waiting for Arya to continue. “He, what?” she finally prompted.

“He doesn’t know I’m from Winterfell,” Arya mumbled.

“How is that possible?” Sansa asked, sounding appropriately confused. “You’re a Stark. Does he live under a rock?”

Arya let out a long exhale. “He doesn’t know I’m a Stark, either.”

There was silence on the other end, long enough for Arya to be the one to break it.

“Say something.”

“I just…Again. How the hell is that possible?” her sister asked. “How has that not come up?”

She shrugged dramatically, even though Sansa couldn’t see her. “He asked me once. I changed the subject. He doesn’t like talking about where he’s from, so he didn’t push.”

“Alright, but-“

“And you know _why_ he didn’t push?” Arya continued, conscious of her slight slurring. “Because he’s _understanding_ and _perfect _and _way _too good for me.”

“Okay, slow down, babe,” Sansa softly commanded, as if she were talking to Ember and not her. “That’s fine. But where you’re from and what your _name_ is are two different-”

“It hasn’t come up,” Arya insisted abruptly. “I don’t know why. But he hasn’t asked. And I’m not fucking telling him.”

“Do you think he already knows?”

Her stomach flipped, and she stopped her pacing to lean against a tree, steadying her breathing. He couldn’t. His comments about money, the way he turned his nose up…he couldn’t.

“No,” she said, as confidently as she could muster.

She heard her sister sigh. “Look,” she started, “I know you two are...waiting until this trip is over to figure out what comes next. For whatever reason.” She paused, before speaking more delicately. “But you’re clearly in way deeper than you expected to be, don’t you think?”

“I’m not-“

“All I’m saying,” Sansa continued, more patiently than Arya thought she deserved at the moment, “is maybe you need to stop hiding it. What are you so afraid of?”

Her next thought was interrupted by a loud crash from inside the shop, followed by rapturous laughter. In her whiskey-induced haze, she understood then what she hadn’t recognized before - Gendry hadn’t been looking for the Brotherhood’s approval, but what she’d seen in his eyes had been pride. Pride for being acknowledged for his raw skill and not for his money. It was that simple - these were regular, blue collar people, and they thought he was talented. This wasn’t some distant family friend that he’d never met, calling him just because of who his father was.

And here she was, entertaining the idea of asking him to come home with her. To a place that he’d already expressed reluctance to travel in the first place. To the land where entitlement and handouts and stature were currency, and she was filthy rich.

She didn’t answer Sansa’s question. She hung up the phone instead, sliding down the trunk of the tree onto the forest floor.

____

Gendry was properly hungover the next morning, and Arya chastised herself for the sick pleasure she got from it.

She was silently enjoying herself for a few different reasons. One reason was petty, and she knew it - she was glad that his night with the Brotherhood had ended with him in such a sorry state. She’d never considered herself a very possessive person, but she supposed she’d never really had something quite this good to be possessive over.

Another reason was selfish - again, not her proudest moment. But a hangover meant weakened defenses and the need for greasy food, and all of that meant that they had pizza for both lunch and dinner.

The third reason, though - the third was her favorite. She met a new Gendry that morning, and he swiftly outranked his drunken persona for the best one yet: needy Gendry.

There was something so delicious about this man - this beautiful man, who had just spent a month and a half nurturing her and making her feel safe and changing her entire view on love and life and herself - pouting like a toddler and asking her to play with his hair.

They spent the whole day together, just the two of them, and it felt normal again. Gendry turned down Thoros’ invitation to drive with him and Anguy into town, and he’d even grumbled appropriately when the man awkwardly turned to Arya and asked if she wanted to go instead. They got another mechanic - Lotty or Watty, she couldn’t remember - to move the van to the field next to the shop, and Gendry laid his head in Arya’s lap while they watched movies.

They didn’t talk much, not until it was nearly time for dinner, until Gendry could sit up without feeling terrible. But luckily for them, they were experts in conveying a lot by saying very little. He traced idle circles on her knee, and she wordlessly got up to refill his water each time he emptied it, and they shared sweeter smiles than they had since their unfortunate arrival.

(They were back in the bubble - safe and secure, back in their own little world. Arya did her best not to focus on that part.)

____

“What do you feel like doing today?” Arya asked breathily, as Gendry kissed trails down her neck the next morning.

“Mm,” he hummed into her skin. “Can’t we just do this?”

She let out a laugh, which quickly turned into a groan, as he nipped the shell of her ear. “As much as this has become my favorite activity,” she said, “I would prefer a bit more privacy.”

He whined adorably, lifting his head minutely to peek out the window - most of the Brotherhood was milling around outside, mere yards away. The morning sky was overcast, but it seemed like the entire region had chosen that day to get their cars serviced. Vehicles of various sizes lined the path in front of the shop, and several customers hovered nearby. He returned his gaze to her amused face, and she was pleased to see that he was just as capable of the pout sober as he was drunk.

“Fine,” he agreed grumpily, rolling off of her. “I should go find Thoros, anyway. Get an update on the accelerator. He said it was on its way.”

They reluctantly composed themselves and eventually slipped out of the van, walking hand in hand toward the shop. The patrons looked confused, to say the least, at the sight of them, but bewilderment from strangers barely had an effect on them anymore.

“Gendry!” Anguy shouted from behind a throng of people. “A fucking godsend! We need you today!”

He didn’t respond until they were close enough to speak at a normal volume.

“What do you-“

“Tom is sick as a dog, and we called Harwin, but he can’t make it in,” Anguy rambled frantically. “It’s just me and Thoros today, and he’s got inventory out the ass.” He paused to take a few steadying breaths. “Your number’s up, kid.”

Gendry looked instinctively down at Arya, who was glaring pointedly at the man in front of them. Her jealousy was back, just as quickly as it had left.

He squeezed her hand and looked back up at an impatiently expectant Anguy. “Look, I’m sorry you’re short-staffed, but I’ve already-“

Quicker still, something within Arya shifted. She heard herself sigh.

“Gendry,” she said quietly, before she could stop herself. She tugged on his arm, so he would look at her fully. It was the dejection in his voice that had done it - he wanted to help. He wanted to be with her, she knew that. But he also wanted to help.

“It’s okay,” she did her best to assure him. “I’ll be okay. Go on.”

“Are you sure?” he asked tentatively, obviously trying to suppress the gleam that was already shining in his eyes. She’d be a monster to deny him of this now.

“I’m sure,” she confirmed. Without waiting for a vocal response from Gendry, Anguy unceremoniously tossed him a dirty rag and signaled for him to follow as he walked away, a sly smirk playing on his wrinkled face. Arya ignored that.

“Don’t go far,” he softly implored. “I’ll take breaks and…come say hi and stuff.”

She turned to stand directly in front of him, snaking her fingertips up his muscled arms and tightening her grip once she reached his biceps.

“You better,” she warned, feeling comforted by how clearly torn he seemed. She pulled him down by the shoulders for a lingering kiss. “Promise me at least one make-out on the hood of a car when you’re all hot and sweaty, and we’ll call it fair and square.”

He smiled against her lips and returned her second kiss with torturous zeal.

“You’ve got yourself a deal, captain.”

____

He kept his promise. Four times over, in fact. Once was on the hood of a car, once was against the back wall of the repair floor, once caught her completely off-guard - she’d been on her way to use the bathroom in the rear corner of the shop, and he’d slipped in behind her. The fourth was against the side of the van, the side hidden from public view. (That one had barely been on her lips at all.)

He looked just as enthusiastic, every time, to get back to the cars as he was to see her - to touch her, to whisper her name in adoration.

He left her, every time, with grease stains on her hipbones and a muted ache in her chest.

____

“You smell like motor oil,” Arya mumbled, turning onto her back, so she could see properly.

It was dark now, and she’d become too tired to wait up. She’d left the back door of the van unlocked and nestled onto her side, figuring Gendry would wake her when he was finally done at the shop. The day had been long - the longest she’d had in a while - and her head was cloudy.

“Good news, though,” he said with a smile, crawling over her, bracketing the sides of her head with his forearms. “We get to leave tomorrow.”

She couldn’t help but beam at the sight of him - slightly out of breath, hair disheveled, the collar of his threadbare t-shirt stretched out. She brought a hand up to rest on the back of his neck.

“Did you have fun today?” she asked, her voice tired.

He closed his eyes and leaned into her touch. “Yeah, it was cool,” he whispered. His eyes opened then, and he bent down to kiss her forehead. “Really cool.” Another kiss to the corner of her eye. “Missed you, though.”

She rolled him onto his side, their bodies pressed flush against each other, and swung her calf over his. She wanted to tell him she missed him, too - missed him so much it scared her - but she kissed him instead, letting her palm wander the length of his torso. He seemed to hear her silent reciprocation, following her lead into this slow display of affection.

They broke apart after several minutes, hands having delved under shirts, as Arya traced his jawline with her tongue. Gendry stopped her, gently lifted her chin from his neck, pressed his forehead against hers. She recognized the action - he preferred this position when he had something important to say.

Thumb stroking her cheek, he spoke almost inaudibly. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. You know that?”

He knew all about the bad things that had happened to her in her twenty-five years - she almost felt guilty in that moment, for being such a downer this whole trip. Because she’d been lucky, too - so, so lucky. And she wished she’d talked more about that, because she wanted him to really understand the significance when she whispered back, “And you, to me.”

He said they were leaving tomorrow. She’d ask him tomorrow.

____

Thoros asked Gendry to help out around the shop again the next morning. Arya minded far less than she had the day before.

____

She ventured over to visit him around lunchtime to bring him some food, and he wasn’t where he usually was. She opted to wait, wandering aimlessly along the leftmost wall of the shop, until he bounded back onto the repair floor. He looked flustered before he even saw her, stopping dead in his tracks when he eventually did.

“Hey,” he smiled breathlessly, closing the space between them and kissing her chastely. “Been waiting long?”

“No,” she assured him. “Just a few minutes.”

“Sorry,” he said, pulling her into a hug. “Thoros was just…I was upstairs. He was showing me-“

She laughed at his hurriedness. “Don’t worry about it,” she said, kissing him on the cheek and moving to set the food on a nearby workbench. “Better get back to work, love.”

He coughed, looking down at his feet, before meeting her eyes again with a faraway smile.

“Yeah. Back to work.”

____

The shop closed just as the sun was setting that day, and the air outside was still. Anguy hitched the van back onto the tow and maneuvered it onto the repair floor, so they could install the new part. Arya threw on one of Gendry’s pullovers, and she wanted to freshen up before they left, but she wanted to talk to him first - she needed to talk to him first.

She ran into him on his way out of the shop’s side door - head down, hand clasped onto the back of his neck.

“Can we…” they both started, each laughing nervously. She knew why she felt ready to burst out of her skin, but she was confused by Gendry’s similar state. She took a deep breath and grabbed his hand, leading them silently toward the patch of trees behind the building.

Neither of them spoke, and the gnawing in her stomach was coming back, and no - she couldn’t talk herself out of this any longer. They stopped in front of a secluded tree trunk, and she leaned her back against it, pulling him into a vigorous kiss. He practically melted into her - his hands gripping her waist, hers tangling wildly into his hair. He slid one palm down to clutch her thigh, and their movements grew more frenzied, and that was it - that was the final push she needed.

“Come to Winterfell with me,” she blurted out, just a moment after he pulled away to suck on her neck. He halted instantly. She’d expected that. But the words were out, and she had to keep going.

“_With_ you?” he asked incredulously, bringing his face level with hers again. “Arya, what-“

“Jon, he’s…My brother’s home,” she stammered. “In Winterfell. He wasn’t supposed to be home for months, but he’s home.” She stopped to take a breath, closing her eyes to avoid his stare. “Come home with me.”

He kept his hands planted on her hips, and he was close enough for her to feel him similarly catching his breath. When he didn’t speak, she opened her eyes, only to find that his had closed.

“I know…I know you don’t think you deserve that job,” she said, a slight tremor in her voice. “But you do. You do, Gendry. You should take it, and you’ll see, and we can-“

His eyes shot open, as piercing as she’d ever seen them.

“Arya,” he cut her off. His nostrils flared, as he took another breath. “You live in Winterfell?” he asked, even though she’d just told him so. “I told you about…I told you, and you…” He ground his teeth. “_Why_ didn’t you tell me?”

When she swallowed, she felt like she was choking on her heart. She moved her hands from where they’d landed on his shoulders to rub the heels of her palms into her eyes.

“I should’ve told you. I know,” she said quickly, desperately. “Look, it’s a long story, and I was-“

“All this time,” he cut in again, his voice slightly louder than before. “All this time, I thought you didn’t wanna talk about it, so I didn’t push. But this whole fucking time-“

“I didn’t wanna be the reason you took a job you didn’t want,” she said, in a half-truth. She was dimly aware that this conversation would continue going nowhere if they kept interrupting each other, but they both seemed fueled by pure adrenaline.

He sniffled sharply, his jaw falling slack, as he rubbed a frantic hand down his face. “And _now _you’re…” he trailed off, leaving the rest of his question in the air between them.

“I’m sorry,” she said in a near-whisper. “I’m sorry, just…Let me explain. I’ll explain everything. Let’s just-“

“I can’t come with you,” he said, almost like he couldn’t believe it.

“But you could. You could if you wanted to,” she continued, finally meeting his eyes and pouring every ounce of contrition into them that she could. “We could-“

“Thoros offered me a job, Arya,” he said. “That’s what…” he started, interrupting himself with a sigh. “I’m going to work for the Brotherhood.”

The air around them remained still, but she could swear he’d said the words with a megaphone, the way they reverberated against the trees surrounding them. They echoed in her head, rattled her more than her rapidly beating heart had been. She’d accounted for the difficulty of this revelation, even for his indignation. Not for this, though. She felt the color drain from her cheeks when he continued.

“That’s where I was when you came by earlier. He was…he was showing me around the rooms upstairs.” It was his turn to devolve into sheepishness, and his hands left her hips. “His son’s old room.”

She felt unforgivingly warm, and she mentally acknowledged her hypocrisy, as her next question tumbled out of her mouth. “When were you gonna tell me that?”

Gendry evidently noticed it, too. He laughed in disbelief. “That’s rich,” he spat. “Now. I was gonna tell you right now.”

“Great,” she said curtly. “And now that you’ve told me, have you lost your fucking mind?”

“It wouldn’t start for another few weeks,” he went on, ignoring her fury. “Not until…yeah. Not until the end of this.”

“The _end_ of this,” she repeated flatly.

“Of the trip,” he corrected - quickly, desperately. Arya was standing stock still, but she felt like her head was spinning.

“So, that’s your brilliant definition of ‘letting after be after,’ then,” she concluded. “We get to the end, and we just…go our separate ways. You’re alright with that.”

“You could come with _me_,” he tried, a dangerous anguish behind his voice.

“You know I have a job to go back to, Gendry,” she said, shaking her head. “You can’t ask me to do that.”

“That’s what _you’re_ doing.”

“Well, it’s not the same, is it?” she yelled. She clutched his hands from where they hung by his sides, needing to feel anchored. “Gods, I know. I know you don’t think you’re good enough for whatever this job is, and I know you think you haven’t earned it, but _shit_, you are so much better than these guys,” she said, jerking a pair of their limply joined hands toward the dimly lit shop.

“These guys are good,” he defended. “They work hard, and they make honest livings, and they’re not…” He stopped to swallow. “They’re good.”

“You can find ‘good’ anywhere,” Arya retorted, her voice quieter, but the anger still persisting in her gut. “Why does it have to be here?”

He dropped her hand, flexed his fingers, before shoving it in the pocket of his sweatshirt. “They’re good, but it’s more than that. These men…are brothers. They’re a family.” He closed his eyes again, his voice starting to shake. “It was always just me and my mum. I’ve never…I’ve never had a _family_.”

Arya barked out a laugh - not because it was funny, but because it was decidedly the opposite. “I won’t even deign to respond to that,” she said coldly.

“That’s different. You’re…you’re different, Arya,” he said frustratedly.

“So, what? That’s it, then?”

“I want to _be_ with you! I do! Fuck, Arya, I lo-“

“Don’t you dare,” she hissed, ripping her other hand from his and raising it in the space between them.

They stared at each other for a moment, mutual storms raging behind their eyes.

“It doesn’t have to…We can work something out. We can,” he said.

“It’s not too late for you to change your mind, either,” she challenged.

“I can’t go to Winterfell,” he repeated, more regretfully than before. “It’s too much. I want…please. I want you,” he pleaded. “But I don’t want _that. _You have to understand.”

She should have, but she couldn’t. She closed her eyes, and she was nineteen again - standing in front of Jon, hearing him tell her he loved her, and he was going to miss her, but that he needed to go, and that they would figure it out. She was nineteen again, and she felt selfish and stupid and heartbroken. She’d recovered from that, it was true - but the thought of having to summon that kind of strength again nearly bowled her over.

“You need to stay, then,” she asserted, her voice low. She opened her eyes, kept them trained to the ground, until she knew for certain that he wasn’t going to answer her. She should have been looking at him - she owed him that much. But she couldn’t.

“I want you to come with me,” she said definitively. “I understand if you’re hurt and upset. I can live with that. But if you really can’t come with me, then you need to stay.” She took a shaky breath, felt the familiar prickle of tears threatening to spill. “I need you to stay,” she amended.

Gendry’s silence was deafening, made all the more prominent by the quiet night. It was like the whole forest had stopped to bear witness.

“I can’t spend the next two weeks with you, knowing that I’ll have to say goodbye,” she finished.

She felt his exhale on the top of her head, and she looked up then. His eyes were red.

“Arya, I-“

“Will you come with me?” she asked, one final time.

His lips curled inward, and the focus left his stare. Through the corner of his mouth, he whispered, “I can’t.”

She laughed emptily again, pairing it with a sharp inhale. “Yeah,” she muttered. “You said that already.”

It was like looking at a wreck - neither of them could tear their eyes away from each other, no matter how destroyed they were. A bit of life returned to his eyes, as he searched hers for some, any, solution.

“Will we…I mean. Can I-“

She cleared her throat, the spell broken. She pushed off of the trunk of the tree, rubbing the part of her shoulder that had been pressed against the jagged bark, her feelings already expertly repressed.

“Let’s go,” she said flatly. “It’s getting dark.”

____

Gendry walked past her when she reached the newly repaired van, continuing into the back office of the shop. She was glad that the mechanics had dispersed, leaving her alone to gather Gendry’s things and prop them against the wall. She was reminded then, of just how little he had, but, fuck, at least he’d had - she shook her head. She couldn’t think about that.

He reemerged when she was fishing out payment for Anguy, muttering some lackluster excuse for thanks. She avoided his eyes, as she rounded the front of the car to the driver’s side and hoisted herself into the seat. He followed her to the window, and she had no choice but to roll it down. He’d been crying.

“Why don’t you at least stay the night?” he asked, his voice raspy. “It’s already late.”

She knew she looked unrecognizable to him - she could see it in his eyes. Recognized the look of someone she loved trying to pull her out. But she knew herself, she did - and she wasn’t getting out that easily.

“Let’s not make this harder than it has to be,” she said dispiritedly, before averting her eyes and staring through the windshield. She saw him step back, out of the corner of her eye, as she turned the key in the ignition, the sound of the working van confirming that she was free to go. Maybe some part of her had hoped she would still be stuck.

She pulled forward then, through the garage door and into the silent night, without a second glance.

____

She drove for six hours without stopping. She didn’t put on music until halfway through. She silenced one call from Sansa and four calls from Gendry.

At some point, she saw a sign for the Eyrie and pulled off of the main road. She found a park, found a secluded spot, and crawled into the back of the van. The last time she’d done that by herself had been when she - right.

She locked the doors and curled onto her side and set an alarm for the morning. She didn’t have a reason to stay in bed longer than she had to. She bunched up one of her blankets and propped it up against her back.

She eventually drifted to sleep, but her last feeling was irritation and not peace, because she was still wearing his fucking pullover.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (*whispers* ... 'angst with a happy ending' ...)
> 
> my eternal gratitude for everyone who is invested in this story - i love u and pls trust me 🧡


	9. the eyrie to the twins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> featuring - old habits and reunions and a bit too much champagne

Arya was home, in Winterfell - but it looked different. 

For one thing, the exterior of the main house was all wrong. Overgrown vines crawled up the side paneling, seeming almost alive - a direct contradiction to the untarnished way that her mother insisted on keeping the structure’s light grey facade. She approached it slowly, cautiously navigating the surrounding landscape, which felt eerily similar to the forest in Acorn Hall, then to the trail behind Hot Pie’s, and no - no, that was impossible. She stopped in her tracks when she reached the final few yards, hindered from going any further by a deep, wide moat. When had they gotten a moat? There was no bridge or plank by which to cross, and now she was leaning against the tree outside of the repair shop, and she needed to get away - she needed to get inside.

She blinked and found herself in her father’s study - a room that was normally situated down a narrow hallway on the main floor, but for some reason was now in the attic. They must have rearranged. She’d been away for years, after all.

Her family had yet to make an appearance, despite the sounds of their voices echoing throughout the stone corridors. Hadn’t they missed her? Her mother - her mother had said that Bran and Rickon had missed her.

Nothing was like she’d remembered it, but maybe so much time away had warped her perception. Had she been _so_ unwell that she’d forgotten everything? Somehow, she registered herself floating from her father’s empty study to her bedroom - the room she’d be staying in for the duration of the fall, until she found an apartment nearby. Catelyn had been furious that she’d sold all of her furniture, but where would it have gone in the meantime?

But even her room had changed. The furnishings remained, but they were all out of place, out of order. She knew for a _fact_ that her closet had not been on the wall behind her bed. And her bed - she certainly hadn’t been the one to pick out those blankets. She dragged a hand over the dusty surface of her dresser, as she moved to get a closer look, and she stood corrected - the hodgepodge of quilts she’d brought for her makeshift bed in the van covered her queen-sized mattress. She looked up to the headboard and saw her two pillows and a pile of balled-up sweatshirts and Gendry’s backpack - all looking properly slept-on. She shook her head and sank to the carpet, eyes closed in silent plea.

The next time she blinked, she was sitting in her favorite weirwood in the backyard. It was the one at the far corner of the woods, the one with the perfect view of both the back porch and the distant hills. She perched on one of the thick middle branches, leaning against the sturdy trunk, and _finally_ \- something that hadn’t changed. She let out a slow sigh of relief, watching her breath come out in distinct puffs. Was it summer or winter? It felt like both at once.

A presence materialized next to her, brushing against her outer thigh, and suddenly the air around her smelled of smoke - of firewood and lake water and daffodils. She didn’t need to look up to know who it was, nor did she want to, but she didn’t seem to be the one controlling her movements, because she tilted her head anyway. It was undeniably him in every way - freckle on his collarbone, slightly calloused hands, muscled legs. All of his features were sharpened, but his face was obscured, and she didn’t know if that made all of this better or worse.

She blinked again, and the ground below her had completely vanished, and she was falling.

* * *

“Shit,” Arya muttered, rolling onto her back and wiping her forehead with the back of her hand. She was uncomfortable and sweaty, by her own making, and she practically tore her top layer off - throwing it to the side with some added gusto when she remembered whose it was.

It was still dark outside, and she was almost afraid to check the time. It had been a while since she’d been torn from sleep by the sheer heaviness of her emotions, and she already knew that she was likely awake for good. After a few minutes of intentional stillness - she gave it her best effort, she truly did - she rolled back onto her side and reached for her phone.

Winterfell had been fucked up and out of whack in her dreams, but she was solaced by the realization that her pit - her hole of despair, her hiding place, whatever you wanted to call it - was exactly how she’d left it.

Never mind the fact that the forces luring her in were shrouded in black, like every demon in her head come to life. It felt like a welcome home.

Every surface was spotless, every accessory flawlessly aligned. She’d need to clear out some of the cobwebs in the corners, but she already felt herself sinking back into her long-abandoned routine. Her pit was perfect for sulking and avoiding, had everything she’d ever need to just barely make it by. Right then, that was all she wanted.

She unlocked her phone and went straight for YouTube. She had an obscene number of unread texts and missed calls and voicemails, but what good would those do? She had the pit.

She felt nothing - further cemented by either the evening hour or the mindless makeup tutorials, she wasn’t sure. But when she felt her eyelids begin to droop a few hours later, she knew she’d wake up farther below water than she’d been in a long time.

* * *

_gendry_ \- _(5) Unread iMessages, (5) Missed Calls, (2) Voicemails_

_ sansa _ _ \- (1) Unread iMessage_

_ mum _ _ \- (3) Unread iMessages_

_jon__ -_ _(2) Missed Calls, (1) Voicemail_

_Keeping Up with the Starks__ -_ _(33) Unread iMessages_

~

**rickon:** [Attachment: 1 Image]

the boy is back in town

**sansa: **ahh! cuties!

jon, your hair is longer than arya’s

**robb: **sorry i missed the homecoming dinner! we’ll be around tomorrow afternoon

did you save some of dad’s stuffing

**bran: **i did, but your window of opportunity is closing fast

**robb: **it’s not for me! it’s for tal

**bran:** oh. in that case, it’s safe

**sansa:** wish we could be there

maybe i’ll look at flights for this weekend

**jon:** wooooah, sansa stark making a spontaneous decision

mark the date

**sansa:** only for you brotha

**jon:** is arya close enough to winterfell? anyone know?

we’ve been playing phone tag for the past few days

**rickon:** i thought she was gonna head toward the vale soon, last time i checked

**bran:** affirmative

**robb: **bran, i swear to fuck

**sansa:** i tried calling her last night, she didn’t answer. it was late though

**jon: **arrrryyyaaaaaa. answer us

**rickon: **arry!! it won’t be a Full Sib Reunion without u, ur the glue that holds this family together

**robb:** rude

(he’s right tbh) (text us back twerp)

~

**mum:** hi dear. you have some mail from the therapy center.

i opened it. just looks like some information about benefits.

call me tomorrow.

~

**sansa:** hey, you ok?

~

**gendry:** please call me

or shit sorry just text me. or something

i just need to know that you’re safe, that’s all

i don’t fucking care that i sound desperate, and you can keep hating me, just send me something so i know you’re okay

please arya

* * *

Her alarm went off two agonizing hours later. She was fairly certain she wasn’t fully asleep for even five minutes of that time. There was still no reason for her to stay in bed for longer than necessary - but she hit snooze, rolled onto her other side, and pulled out her laptop for more tutorials she’d never try.

She read her all of her messages and answered none of them.

* * *

_“Arya?” came her sister’s petulant voice outside her bedroom door. She was lying prostrate on her bed, feet propped up on the headboard, in complete darkness. Some episode of television that she’d seen countless times played softly on her laptop, but she paid it no mind. She didn’t respond._

_She could hear Sansa’s indignant huff from the other side of the thick wooden door. “Arya. I know you’re in there. Open the door.” Still, she said nothing. _

_“I’m telling mum and dad if you don’t open the door in the next ten seconds.”_

_At that, Arya rolled her eyes but slowly swung her legs to the floor. When she stood up, she swayed in place for a beat, as all of her blood rushed back throughout her body. She’d been lying down for longer than she thought. _

_She creaked the door open, squinting at the bright light from the hallway. _

_“What,” she said flatly. _

_Sansa’s eyes widened minutely, but her scrunched-up expression didn’t falter. “I’ve been sent to apologize for the _‘harsh tone’_ I took with you this morning at breakfast,” she said, as if she were reciting a script._

_“Don’t worry about it,” Arya responded automatically, already stepping back into the shadows of her room. “You seem really torn up over it.”_

_“Well,” Sansa breathed, seeming satisfied enough with her halfhearted apology, “dinner’s almost ready. Mum said fifteen minutes.”_

_“Not hungry,” Arya muttered. _

_“When was the last time you showered?” Sansa blurted out. Her eyebrows furrowed. “Have you been in here all day?”_

_“It’s summer vacation, asshole,” Arya defended. “I’ll be down in a little bit.”_

_She moved to shut the door, but Sansa threw out a hand to stop her. The sisters simply stared at each other for a moment. _

_“Can I help you?”_

_“Arya, what’s…I mean. Are you okay?” _

_Her older sister’s voice carried a tone of worry that Arya wasn’t used to. She glanced to her right, to the full-length mirror on her wall, and caught a true glimpse of herself for the first time that day. She did look unkempt - oversized sweatshirt that wore more like a dress, hair falling out of her ponytail in every direction, the faintest beginning of bags forming under her eyes. _

_She was only fifteen, and she didn’t know how to answer that question - she wasn’t okay, but she had no idea why. _

_“I’m fine,” Arya said instead, a bit robotically. “Just tired.”_

_Sansa said nothing in response, but her look of concern didn’t waver, as Arya closed the door. _

* * *

It was when she couldn’t possibly hold her bladder any longer that Arya finally left the van that day. Much to her surprise, the sun was already beginning its descent behind the trees. That was another thing that hadn’t changed - time passed strangely in the pit.

She took a slow pace, stretching each of her limbs methodically. She remembered being dragged to a yoga class once, remembered the instructor saying something about waking up each body part, one by one. It felt counterintuitive - to be waking up her body, when the rest of the country was getting ready to wind down for the night - but it was all she had at the moment. She twisted and cracked and loosened and shook, until she felt vaguely like a person again.

Maybe there was something to yoga that she’d missed before. Why the fuck was she thinking about yoga? She needed a bathroom.

In a daze, she wandered the park and found the public toilets. She continued her stroll after she was done, looping around a sprawling field where a group of teenagers was playing football. She always sucked at football.

She wondered if Gendry was any good. Probably.

She realized when she got back to the van that she hadn’t spoken a word all day, save for her mutterings upon waking up in the middle of the night. It sort of delighted her. She found a rock nearby to sit on and watch the sun go down. She was throwing so much normalcy by the wayside, but it felt downright blasphemous to purposely avoid the sunset.

Because that was _hers_, alright? It was hers before it was theirs, and now it was just hers again, and that was that.

* * *

She fell asleep a bit more easily that night, bundled in layers that she knew she wouldn’t need, as always.

She didn’t put on Gendry’s pullover, but she did use it as a pillow. Her other sweaters felt too rough against her cheek when she slept on her side, so she really - honestly - had no other choice.

* * *

“Gods, you’re a right pain in my ass,” Arya growled into her phone. “There, I answered. Can you leave me alone?”

When she woke up in the middle of the night that time, it was not because of her anxiety. It was because of her own lack of forethought to turn her fucking phone on silent and her sister’s classic Tully persistence.

“Absolutely not,” Sansa said sharply. “Where in the _world_ have you been? You have everyone worried sick.”

“I’m sure,” she said sarcastically. “Stop the search party. I’m alive. And I’d love to go back to sleep.”

“Wait!” Sansa exclaimed. “Shit, Arya. Talk to me.”

She took a frustrated breath. “About what?”

“Did you talk to Gendry? Did you guys get into a fight?”

“Sure.”

“_Ar-_“

“He’s gone! Alright? Happy?” Arya interrupted. “I tried to tell him everything, like you so wisely suggested, and now he’s gone.” She wasn’t telling even a quarter of the full story, and she certainly wasn’t being fair - this was far from Sansa’s fault. But she needed to get off the phone.

“Why would that make me happy?” Sansa asked, sounding wounded. “Look, I didn’t-“

“It doesn’t matter,” Arya cut in. “It really doesn’t. Not sure what I expected to happen, so it’s really much easier this way.”

“Do you wanna talk about it?” her sister asked. Her tone suggested she knew the answer already. “I just…are you okay? You haven’t sounded like this in-“

“I’m fine,” Arya said.

She didn’t need to add the next two words - they’d both been here before, and they both knew the words weren’t true. But down in the pit, they were some of the few words she had in her arsenal.

“Just tired.”

She took advantage of her sister’s silence and promptly ended the call.

* * *

It had been a while since Arya had been anywhere near the Eyrie, but she was generally familiar with what it had to offer. Of course, much of its structural framework had been modernized over the past few years, and now it boasted some of the Vale’s most impressive technological advancements. She’d heard about the recent opening of some museum or another, one that she’d thought - at the time - would pique her interest. And there was always the waterfall. But none of that was enough to really get her going. She had a phone - she could look at pictures.

She didn’t feel as bad, then, for her complete lack of exploration. Dr. Forel would point out that she was making excuses for her destructive behavior, blaming it on something without agency. She imagined he’d have a lot to say about all of this, actually.

She sought distraction, instead, within the confines of the van - counted the divots in the ceiling, memorized the nutritional facts on the back of an empty snack bag. She carefully and beautifully edited photos she’d never post, because she had Instagram, but she hated it - she hated it so much. (Photos of the landscape and the countryside, obviously. Not photos of anything else.)

She grew bored and sort of frustrated with all of that after a while - like it was the interior stitching’s fault for not being intricate enough to hold her attention - and started to rummage through the center console for something else to occupy her. She found something, and then she immediately wished she hadn’t.

His stupid postcards. They were supposed to have been in his backpack - she could’ve sworn they had been in his backpack - but they were there, in her hands, instead. Deep Den and Lannisport and Feastfires and Riverrun and - she didn’t need to keep going. She remembered. She’d been there. The pictures on the cards were not unlike the ones on her phone, aside from some obvious professional touches. Still, she couldn’t quite stand the sight of them.

She thumbed through the pile one more time, stopping on a card from Ashemark. The photograph was nothing spectacular - rolling hills of green and grey, underneath a swirling mid-afternoon sky. It was nice, she guessed, but that was all. The underwhelming feeling comforted her for a split second. Like maybe it meant that everything that happened in Ashemark was also ‘just nice, that’s all.’ Like she was blowing all of this out of proportion.

The words ‘Dear Arya’ were scrawled on the back of the card, though - crossed out, but unmistakable. His handwriting suited him - it was dumb. Whatever he’d had to say, surely, was also dumb.

Suddenly, a walk outside didn’t sound like the worst thing.

* * *

Having unencumbered access to a mirror was always a dangerous game to play when she was in the pit, but Arya really, really needed a shower. Lights off, door shut, water set to a temperature that would leave her entire body scarlet when she was done - that was how she liked it when she felt like this.

She’d spoken a bit more that day - had to, in order to secure the room. But standing under the steady stream, room so dark that she couldn’t even see her hand reach down to grab the minuscule hotel shampoo bottle, she reveled in the disconnection. She was never sure why it was so therapeutic - she almost always had to sit down when the steam got to be too dizzying. With no tangible points of reference, though, it was always easy to pretend she was somewhere else - or nowhere at all.

She had the fleeting thought that she needed to get over herself, and she stubbed her toe a half hour later attempting to get out of the tub. She watched her phone ring - her father, this time - while she sat, wrapped in a towel, on the desk chair, picking the dry skin off of her cheek, until she pulled her fingers away and saw blood.

Already, she mused - already she’d become reduced to this. She was boring _herself_, and it made her even more sad, but it mostly made her pissed off. It pissed her off that she’d just been thinking the other day about how she couldn’t possibly fall any farther, only to discover that she was still on the top floor.

* * *

Hotel rooms were good for one thing, in her opinion, and that was concentrated temperature control. The sheets were always freezing against her body, even when she was wrapped in layers, and she purposely left them mostly tucked under the mattress, so she’d feel strapped down when she slid between them. Remembering to turn her ringer off, she flopped onto her back, hugged her arms across her chest, and burrowed her nose under her sweatshirt.

The sweatshirt wasn’t Gendry’s - she’d left that on the desk across the room, this time. But she found herself thinking obsessively about the asymmetry in the way he wrote the letter ‘Y,’ as the low hum of the air conditioning unit lured her into another restless sleep.

* * *

_“What do you do?” Gendry asked. “Like, when you’re down there. How do you get out?”_

_Arya kept her eyes trained on the sky above them, testing herself to see if she could find Taurus like he’d taught her._

_“It’s been a while, so I’m a bit out of practice,” she breathed, aiming for nonchalance - as if she were talking about not having been swimming or bike riding in a while._

_“Right,” he said, “but I imagine you would, like…know what to do. If you ever got to that place again.”_

_“I would,” she agreed. “It’s harder than it probably seems, I guess.”_

_“I don’t think it sounds easy at all.”_

_She didn’t say anything for a while, and they laid in silence, as the world around them grew darker. He shifted onto his side to face her, began playing with the grass between them. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him watching her. She had the strongest urge to kiss him, but she kept it to herself._

_“It’s less about whether I would know what to do,” she added eventually. Only then did she turn her head to look at him fully, and he raised a brow in question. _

_“It’s whether I would have the strength to actually do it.”_

* * *

She woke up still pissed off - so intensely, that she couldn’t quite see straight.

They would be right in the middle of planning their day. He would have woken up first, placed slow kisses down the side of her neck, until she stirred. She would have pretended to be bothered, simultaneously arching her back to press further into him. Maybe that morning would have been the one where they gave into each other completely. She thought they were both being careful - careful not to rush the physical, since the emotional didn’t seem to be slowing down.

But maybe that was just stupid, because now she’d never know.

She threw the comforter off of her and flung an arm over to the side table to grab for her phone. Letting anger sustain her, she initiated the call.

“Arya? Hello? Arya?” Gendry answered urgently, after just one ring.

Her blood ran cold at the sound of his voice. What had she been expecting? For him to ignore her, like she had been with him over the past two days? He was a better person than she was. She knew this.

She sputtered for a moment, opening and closing her mouth, like she’d forgotten how to speak to begin with. She didn’t trust herself to say anything productive or kind, and her mind was whirring fast enough to require her to lie back down.

“Arya?” he asked again, quieter this time, but still desperate. He sounded out of breath, like he’d run to answer her call. Or maybe he’d simply been thinking about her, too.

She released a shaky breath into the receiver, knowing he’d hear it. It was all she could summon, and she regretted dialing him in the first place, and she had to hang up the phone, so he wouldn’t hear her scream into the pillow beneath her.

* * *

Her phone rang again a handful of minutes later, just as she was zipping up her bag - just as she was digging, _frantically_ clawing, for the fortitude to stand up to the cycle of negative thoughts swirling around in her head. They never quite left - no matter what - but she was much better at silencing them when she wasn’t in the pit. Sound didn’t carry all that well to the rest of the world when she was down there, so now the thoughts had permission to scream as loudly as they wanted to, she guessed.

The anger still churned in her stomach. She’d very obviously changed her mind and decided she didn’t want to talk - didn’t he understand that? He was fucking relentless.

“I’m clearly alive, alright? You can stop now,” she practically snarled into the phone.

“Arya?”

She stopped, mid-zip, genuinely perplexed. “_Robb?_”

“Hey, pipsqueak.”

Robb _never_ called her. “Did Sansa put you up to this?”

“What? No.”

“Okay,” she said carefully, elongating the second syllable. She sank down into the desk chair, planting one of her feet on the cushion and resting her chin on her knee. “Did someone die?”

“Gods, can I not call my baby sister?” Robb asked, a little exasperated, but mostly amused.

“You certainly can,” she said, rolling her eyes. “To what do I owe the honor?” Of everyone in her life, _Robb_ was alleviating the pain in her chest. Maybe she’d play a lottery ticket or two on her way out of the Vale.

“Where are you right now?” he asked.

“A hotel.”

“Oh, she’s got jokes!”

“I’m a riot,” she said sarcastically, trying and failing to stop her lip from twitching upward. Fuck Robb, honestly. She was supposed to be upset.

“How about this,” he tried again. “Are you anywhere near the Twins?”

She scrunched her face in deeper confusion. “I’m about seven hours away from the swamp capital of Westeros. Why?”

“Because,” he said, the smile evident in his voice, “I’m getting married in three days, but I can’t do it without a groomswoman.”

* * *

Robb’s girlfriend Talisa was a travel nurse, and they’d been dating since his third year of university. He’d broken his ankle falling _up_ the stairs, because of course he had, and she’d been working as a scribe while she finished out the final year of her BSN, and it was all very classically romantic. 

Talisa didn’t have a ton of family, but her mother lived in a small one-story house in Seagard, and she had some cousins scattered as far North as the Neck. The Starks had welcomed her with open arms from the very beginning, and she’d quickly become a constant in their lives. She was smart and self-reliant and patient and always won the Pictionary tournament at Thanksgiving. She was nearly perfect - only someone with a certain kind of magic could cause Catelyn Stark _not_ to devolve into hysterics at the prospect of a grandchild born out of wedlock.

Arya had called her once - when she was twenty, and she was on her fourth in a string of really rough days. She’d been craving conversation with someone that couldn’t close their eyes and picture her as a bratty preteen. She’d always liked Talisa - she’d sardonically thought that anyone who was able to withstand her eldest brother’s dumb ass had to be a decent listener.

They’d talked for four hours that night, and that was when Arya first remembered hoping that she’d be her sister-in-law someday.

That heart-to-heart was on a repetitive loop in the back of her mind, as she checked out of her room that morning, tossed her bag into the back of the van, and put the address of a different, much fancier hotel into her phone’s GPS.

* * *

_ Keeping Up with the Starks_ _ _

**arya: **7 hr 14 min ETA.

**rickon: **WOOOOOOOO. MY BODY IS READY

**sansa:** *this* much spontaneity is gonna drive me to drink

**bran: **the Winterfell Contingent will be flying out early tomorrow morning

**sansa: **ember and i are headed for the airport, flight leaves in a few hours. ar, i think we’ll get there around the same time as you!

**jon:** travel safe, sisters!!

just letting you all know, i accidentally taught dad what a wedding hashtag is and now he won’t stop brainstorming

**bran: **if it’s not #TalisaRobbedTheCradle, then i’m not coming

**robb: **!!!!!

can’t even be mad at that

can’t wait to scoop you all up

**sansa: **ew

**rickon:** i feel our collective power growing stronger already

**arya: **<3

* * *

She was a whole cocktail of emotions as she rolled into the parking lot of the swanky inn, but she had to laugh at how out of place her van looked amidst the sleek sports cars and limousines. She saw no need to confirm with anyone in her family that locking down a block of rooms here, on such short notice, was easy - one mention of the name Stark, and she was surprised they hadn’t managed to rent out the entire place.

But - her head. Arya needed her head to slow down, before she stepped into the next few days. She parked the van and sat in the driver’s seat - eyes closed and breathing carefully. In through her nose, out through her mouth.

She was seeing her family, who she loved - Sansa, Ember, her little brothers. She was gaining another sister. She was seeing her mother and father - she hadn’t properly spoken to the former in weeks, and she hadn’t been great at staying in touch with the latter, either. She wondered if they were looking forward to seeing her, or if they would just be disappointed.

And she got to be with Jon. Three years later, and she got to be with Jon in a matter of hours. He looked healthy and happy in the picture that Rickon had sent, but there was something new behind his smile that she couldn’t quite make out. He’d probably say the same about her, though.

* * *

Ember would have charged toward both of them, asked whether he’d kept the rock she’d given him for good luck. He and Sansa would have shared an awkward hug, and her sister would’ve smirked at her over his shoulder. She’d been onto them from the beginning.

Her brothers would’ve adored him, and her father might’ve narrowed his eyes at first, but he would’ve wanted to hear all about their travels over the last few months.

Her mother would likely not have spoken to him much at all, and that thought made Arya angrier than the fact that he wasn’t there with her in the first place.

* * *

The key card in the door woke her up, but she remained curled on her side. It was properly late then, and she was fresh out of mental energy. She’d also thought she’d have the room to herself - but apparently not.

“Shh, sweetling,” she heard her sister whisper, as the door opened. “See? Aunt Arya’s sleeping. Just like you need to be. Straight to bed.”

Her eyes stayed closed, but she heard the tiniest footsteps round the front of the bed and stop right before her. She couldn’t help it - she cracked an eye open.

“Hi, love,” Arya said softly, smiling tiredly when she saw Ember’s face light up.

“My mum said we’re supposed to go to sleep,” her niece replied at normal volume.

Arya laughed, a warm exhale out of her nose, as she rubbed her eyes. She glanced up at her sister, who was already changing into pajamas.

“You look ready to go, then, don’t you?” she asked groggily, rolling onto her back and outstretching her arms. “C’mere.”

Ember bounced eagerly onto the mattress, straight into her aunt’s awaiting embrace. Arya pressed a kiss to her crown, smiling when the little girl’s breathing evened out within minutes.

She was drifting off herself when she felt the mattress dip again. Ember was snuggled tightly into her chest, fast asleep, tiny fists clutching the fabric of her sweatshirt, and the both of them were practically buried under the covers. Sansa slid in beside them, curling around her sister and daughter with ease, resting her head on the pillow above them.

Without a word, Sansa kissed the top of Arya’s head, stroking her hair until she finally fell asleep, too.

* * *

“What’s a flower girl?”

“Well,” Sansa began definitively, examining a rack of dresses the following afternoon, “you have a very important job. You get to make the aisle beautiful for when Talisa walks down to marry Uncle Robb.”

“Is Talisa gonna be my aunt?” Ember asked.

“Yes, she is,” Sansa laughed.

Arya trailed a few paces behind the mother and daughter, lazily skimming the clothes with her palm. Nothing she had packed was nice enough for a wedding, let alone a Stark wedding. Well, actually - one thing was. But flashes of a hand crawling up her thigh, eyes lingering on her breasts, a grip tightening around the small of her waist - she’d be burning that garment, the first chance she got.

Ember stopped dead in her tracks to look back at Arya.

“I don’t want another aunt,” she whined.

Arya laughed and shook her head. “Yes, you do,” she corrected. “You love Talisa.”

“I don’t want another one,” she repeated defiantly. Arya stopped walking when she reached her - crouched down to her level and tugged lightly on a lock of her hair.

“You know that you can have more than one aunt, right?”

“I can?”

“Oh, yeah,” Arya said. “Your mum and I have three.”

The little girl peered up at her mother - who had stopped to admire the scene - as if to seek confirmation. Sansa nodded.

Ember seemed to relax at the sound of that news - she looked back at Arya, clearly still turning the words over in her little head.

“You’re still gonna be my favorite, though,” she decided.

The cardinal rule of being an aunt - and of being a parent, and of being _anything_ to multiple kids at once - was a simple one: no favorites. But it was like the gods themselves had plucked this tiny spitfire straight out of Arya’s purest dreams of what a niece could be. She was reminded, in that moment, of her conversation with Sansa when she was pregnant - about how her daughter would be exactly what she needed. She was reminded that maybe that went for her, too.

Not for the first time, and likely not for the last, she wrapped Ember in a hug - blinking back tears over her shoulder.

“You’re my favorite, too, love.”

* * *

Gendry called again as they were checking out at the boutique counter, and she made a mental note to get rid of his contact photo - a candid shot of him walking toward her with his head down. The sun was setting behind him, and his hands were shoved in his pockets, and it was prettier than every single one of his stupid postcards.

* * *

“Little wolf,” her father uttered affectionately, pulling her into his arms. Ned Stark was a formidable businessman, a champion of the small folk - and one of the best huggers in the entire world, Arya thought.

“Hey, dad,” she whispered, squeezing him tightly. He rubbed her back softly - like he knew she needed the extra love.

“Look at you,” he said, pulling back to examine her fully. “My day is complete.”

“We get it. She’s your favorite,” Rickon said, rolling his eyes and prying their father’s arms off of his sister. The youngest Stark nearly knocked Arya flat on her back in the middle of the restaurant, but her resolve was too weakened for her to particularly care.

Catelyn stood off to the side while Arya greeted her little brothers, and she felt her old defense mechanisms creeping back into place. (Don’t hug her too enthusiastically, or she’ll accuse you of being fake. But don’t act too closed off, because she’ll take it personally. And for gods’ sake, stop slouching.)

“Mum,” Arya said plainly, turning to face her and offering a shy smile. To her surprise, Catelyn strode forward and initiated a warm embrace - warm to _her_ standards, anyway.

“Hi, dear,” her mother said, kissing her quickly on the cheek. “You look well.”

She hated herself for the relief she felt at that statement - like she was waiting with bated breath to see if she’d passed some kind of silent test. It was a test she’d failed many times over the years.

“Thanks,” Arya acknowledged, stepping back and smoothing her hair instinctively. So far, she was doing alright. She could maybe, almost handle all of this. But she looked around at her family, and her respite quickly dissolved.

“Where’s Jon?”

“He’s still at the airport,” Bran said, smiling as Sansa leaned down to kiss the top of his head. “Airline lost his luggage.”

She muttered some trite remark about that being too bad, but inside she felt herself shutting down again. It was always one step forward, two steps back, but again - she was out of practice. The reminder rattled her.

* * *

The hour was odd for a meal - a tad too early for dinner, but much too late for lunch - but Arya settled complacently into her seat between Ember and Bran. She was right - her father wanted to hear about her travels, and she answered his questions as affably as she could. Rickon sat across from Sansa, who swiftly kicked him underneath the table as soon as the words, ‘What happened to-‘ left his mouth.

Her mother listened with halfhearted interest, ears perking up slightly when Arya spoke of fishing in Riverrun, but straightening her mouth when she asked Ned for an update on Jon.

“Are we not enough for you, Arya?” her mother asked bluntly. “Your other brother isn’t here yet, either. You’re not asking after him.”

“Mum, she hasn’t-“ Sansa started, in her sister’s defense.

“We’re here for a wedding,” Catelyn said sharply. “I’m glad you had a nice time on your little trip, dear. But that’s not what we all came for.”

“Cat,” Ned piped up, placing a hand over his wife’s. “Don’t start.”

“I’m only-“

“No, you know what?” Arya asked calmly. “You’re right,” she said, folding her napkin and placing it next to her half-eaten plate. She pushed back in her chair and moved to stand. “I would hate to detract from the main event. Please, let me know when His Majesty arrives with his betrothed.”

“Sweetheart, you don’t have to-“ her father tried.

“It’s okay,” she answered, forcing a smile. “I…Yeah. I should get some more rest, anyway. I’m tired.”

She leaned down to kiss Ember on the cheek, shoving her phone in her back pocket. She was grateful when Sansa didn’t protest when she asked for the room key.

* * *

**sansa:** have you talked to him?

**arya:** no

**sansa:** i know you probably don’t want my advice. but maybe you should reach out

**arya:** i shouldn’t have said that. it’s not your fault

**sansa:** just text him maybe? something simple?

**arya:** i’d rather just forget about it

* * *

She rolled onto her back and quit out of the iMessage app, turning her phone on Do Not Disturb. She unmuted the hotel room television but paid no attention to the movie on the screen. She returned to her pictures and continued to scroll through the last month’s photos.

(Photos of the landscape and the countryside, obviously. Not photos of anybo- anything else.)

* * *

It was morning the next time Arya woke, and she was alone.

She blinked a few times - slowly adjusting to the dim lighting in the room. She realized that the curtains had been drawn and the television had been switched off. On the side table by her head sat an unopened bottle of Diet Coke and a tiny, deep blue stone. The color made her stomach lurch, but the kind gesture outweighed the nausea.

A quick glance at her phone told her that it was a bit later than she’d anticipated, and she could already feel the migraine setting in from sleeping too long. She carefully began to untangle herself from the comforter, reaching over to take a sip of her drink before standing up. She knew that Diet Coke would do absolutely nothing for her dehydration, but the liquid at least made her throat less dry.

That familiar allure of staying in bed all day came creeping in - it had never made her feel better, not once, but it had a _really_ solid sales pitch. The wedding wasn’t until the following afternoon, so she could get away with it, theoretically. Her hair stuck uncomfortably to the back of her neck, and she looked back at the outline of her body in the sheets beneath her, and it would be _so_ easy to slip back in, and -

A knock sobered her instantly. She grumbled and padded toward the door, mulling the symbolism over in her head - that people were always knocking to be let into her space, and she hardly ever had to do the same. Everyone in her life was just better at leaving the door unlocked, she guessed.

Auburn curls and vibrant blue eyes greeted her - Robb looked ever the picture of a man about to be married.

He hadn’t even spoken yet, and she was already shaking her head, a small smile forcing its way onto her sullen features.

“A kept man,” she muttered, moving to hug him.

“Can you believe she said yes?” he babbled excitedly, embracing her with full force. Somehow, he carried the smell of Winterfell all the way down to the Twins. She inhaled deeply.

“She’s pregnant with your child, idiot.”

He laughed into her hair, squeezing her tighter. “I just still can’t believe someone like her loves someone like me.” Arya pulled away to smile at her brother, but her heart clenched.

Robb could buy the entire region in the blink of an eye. He was charming and lively and would tell his life story to anyone who wanted to listen. He wore his heart proudly on his sleeve, carrying the hearts of half of Westeros right along with it.

He was the opposite of Gendry in every conceivable way, and still she could think of no one else in that moment but him. (_“I’ve never imagined standing a chance with a woman like you.”_)

The thought left just as quickly as it had come, though - her mother’s voice resounding in her head, telling her this wasn’t about her. She listened to the voice and reached her hand out to ruffle her brother’s hair.

“I can’t believe it, either. You are punching.”

* * *

Her older brother invited her to lunch with him, Talisa, and his future mother-in-law, but she politely declined. Everyone else was doing their own thing that day, and she wanted nothing more than to spend her remaining time recharging, so she could be who everyone else needed her to be - who Robb needed her to be, who Ember needed her to be.

Who Gendry would want her to be. She rolled her eyes at herself - the fool wasn’t dead. He was just gone.

She wandered onto the main level of the inn, perusing the breakfast nook and eventually making her way toward the indoor pool. She found an archway that led to an outdoor entertainment venue, where she remembered Sansa mentioning that the wedding would be held the following day. The family was doing its best to keep both their presence and the impending event under wraps, so Arya felt grateful that hers was not a recognizable face.

She felt grateful, too - and slightly euphoric - that the next person she saw when she rounded the corner was just as unrecognizable, so she could cause as big a scene as she wanted.

* * *

“You used to be taller.”

Jon spun on his heels to face her, his breath catching in his throat as he took her in. Three years of distance and choppy phone calls hung in the space between them, and neither moved - both seemingly afraid of blinking, afraid that the other would vanish.

“How did you sneak up on me?” he asked, eyebrow cocked but voice shaky.

She tilted her head and smirked. “How did you survive three years at Castle Black without knowing how to tell when someone’s sneaking up on you?”

He snorted. “I made it work. Still never met anyone as light-footed as you.”

A few more beats of intense silence, both struggling to catch their breath, and Arya could no longer stand it. Jon’s teary-eyed smile must have mirrored her own as she ran toward him, flinging herself into his arms like she was a kid again.

Everything her mother had said was quickly forgotten. This - this was about her.

Hardly caring that her feet were dangling from the ground, she clung tighter around Jon’s neck until he gently placed her back down - their breath still heavy with relief. He placed a strong hand on her shoulder, grounding her still. They were hundreds of miles from home, but in that moment, she’d never felt closer.

“Have you seen Sansa yet? And Ember?” she asked.

“Just left them,” he answered with a smile. “They cornered me for breakfast.” His hand left her shoulder to pull lightly on her braid. “I was out here looking for you.”

She closed her eyes and let out a laugh, a small sigh. “Didn’t everyone tell you? I live in bed now.”

“I heard about what happened,” he said, softly and with a hint of older brother protectiveness. The expression reminded her distinctly of a tense conversation outside of a baseball stadium in Harrenhal.

Arya exhaled. “You heard what Sansa knows, so you barely heard anything.”

“I know that he hurt you. That’s all I need to know.”

She swallowed thickly. “I hurt him, too.”

Jon narrowed his eyes, studying her expression. She couldn’t guess what her face looked like, but something must have given her away, because now both of his hands were on both of her shoulders, and he was looking at her with empathy - only empathy.

“Alert the media,” he said with a smirk. “Arya Stark’s in love.”

She’d told him over a crackly FaceTime call, nearly two years into her relationship with Aegon - told Jon that she hadn’t actually been in love. Aegon had been her friend, and then her friend that she kissed, and then her friend that she kissed that was telling her he loved her, and she’d never once left the passenger seat. She’d been content to ride along to where he’d wanted to go, until she hadn’t been - until she’d started not to recognize the world outside the window.

She and Gendry, though. They had taken turns - driving toward mutually agreed-upon destinations. Maybe that was the simple secret to love, or maybe it was something else entirely, that no one could possibly explain.

Or maybe she’d been spending too much time in a fucking van, and that’s why she couldn’t think of anything but driving analogies.

“How do _you_ know?” Arya asked, defensive and accusatory. This was all wrong - they weren’t supposed to be talking about this. Jon saw through her, though - like he always did - and smiled, and there it was. That _something_ that she’d never seen before.

He threw an arm around her and led them back inside.

“Because so am I.”

* * *

Her name was Ygritte, apparently, and his platoon had captured her from a rival encampment.

“Jon!” she shrieked, scandalized. “You fucked a war prisoner?”

“That’s putting it generously,” he corrected. “She came onto me.”

“That…_has_ to be illegal.”

“Extremely,” he said wistfully.

* * *

Jon made her a compromise - they could order room service and stay in for the day, if she took a shower. He didn’t question her when he saw the lights go off in the bathroom or when she didn’t emerge for another half hour.

When she did, though - skin red, swimming in a mismatched sweatsuit - he nodded toward her phone. She peeked at the screen and rolled her eyes.

“He seems pretty desperate to get ahold of you.”

“That he does,” she said, walking back toward the mirror to brush her hair.

“You don’t owe him anything,” Jon said, in a tone that suggested he was aware that she already knew, “but I hope you’re not punishing yourself, Arya.”

“I’m not ready to talk to him yet.”

“That’s fine,” he replied, hands up in surrender. “If there are things you want him to know, though…Just don’t be afraid.” She looked at him inquisitively. “If you’re mad, you can tell him. You don’t have to close off,” he explained. “And if you also miss him at the same time…I think it would be alright to tell him that, too.”

* * *

“We should learn that dance routine,” Arya said lazily, reaching for another mozzarella stick, not taking her eyes off of the laptop screen.

Jon barked out a laugh. “I didn’t think you liked being picked up.”

“Who says you’d be catching me?”

“He catches Monica,” he said, pointing at the computer.

“I’m stronger than I look, Snow.”

He laughed again and sighed, reaching for his phone. “I have to tell Ygritte you said that. She says that to me all the time.”

Arya scrunched her nose in mock disgust. “I don’t wanna know that.”

He finished typing his text and tossed his phone back onto the mattress. “That’s payback for the month and a half I spent wanting to wring Gendry’s neck for putting his hands on my little sister.”

She snorted. “You really are such a Ross.”

* * *

Sansa and Ember came back to the room just as the sun was casting a dusky orange glow onto the landscape outside. Arya had fallen asleep with her hand angled toward the dwindling plate of garlic knots, and she stirred when she felt Jon shift off of the bed beside her. He began to clear away the remnants of their feast.

“How is she?” she heard her sister whisper. She decided to continue feigning sleep - she hardly ever got the chance to eavesdrop.

“Hangin’ in,” he said, his voice moving farther away. A more solid weight soon replaced the discarded plates and napkins that had been strewn to her side - a sleeping Ember.

“She hasn’t talked to him, I’m guessing,” Sansa sighed. Arya subtly cracked an eye open to see that Jon had moved to the desk chair, her sister sitting on the ottoman in front of him.

“She said she wasn’t ready.”

“I don’t know what to do,” Sansa quietly groaned, holding her head in her hands. “I don’t know how to help her.”

“Hey,” Jon said, reaching a hand out to squeeze her knee. “That’s not up to you. You have your own stuff to worry about.”

“I know, but…” she trailed off, sighing again and running a hand through her hair. She looked exhausted, and guilt panged in Arya’s chest. “I know. I just can’t stand to see her like this.”

“Me, neither,” Jon agreed. “But all we can do is be here.”

Arya had closed her eyes again, so she only heard the sharp inhale, heard the sound of the desk chair rolling back and Jon settling onto the cushion next to Sansa. She squinted her eyes open briefly again to see her sister crying quietly into her brother’s shoulder.

The two sat in silence for several minutes, Jon rubbing a careful hand up and down Sansa’s back. Arya had just begun to drift back off to sleep when she heard them continue.

“I’m so proud of you two,” Jon said softly. She heard Sansa laugh quietly, through more sniffles. “You’ve both grown into such strong women.”

She fought sleep for a minute longer, watched Jon wipe a tear from Sansa’s cheek, through tired eyes.

“That’s all big brothers ever want, you know.”

The tattered, frayed end of the rope dangling in the mouth of the pit, waiting for her to grab on, lowered - hovering just within her reach.

* * *

_“You…are incredible,” Gendry managed, eyes still closed and head thrown back against the wall. “Are my…do I still have legs?”_

_Arya snorted rather unattractively, rising back to her feet and gripping him by the waist. _

_“Careful,” she warned. “I might get out of this trip with some semblance of an ego.”_

_“Gods, I hope so,” he said, leaning down and smiling into her lips. She took a second to melt into him - using her hold to steady herself as much as him - before taking his hand to lead him to bed._

_She stopped at the bedside table to make sure their phones were plugged in, looking over her shoulder when she didn’t feel him slip under the covers. He stood instead, holding the comforter up invitingly. _

_“M’lady,” he nodded._

_“I’m sorry, _what?_” she laughed, accepting the invitation with a shake of her head._

_“Hot Pie said we act like husband and wife,” he said plainly. “Might as well lean into it.”_

_She smiled up at him when he slid in next to her, squealing a little when he rolled her on her side and nipped at the skin behind her ear. _

_“I’d be an awful wife.”_

_“I find that hard to believe.”_

_“Think of our wedding, for starters,” she offered, her head feeling suddenly light. “I can hardly make it through dinner in a dress, let alone an entire night in a gown.”_

_“Weddings are overrated, anyway,” Gendry scoffed. “Too many fancy appetizers.”_

_“I’m so glad you agree,” she said, trailing her nails up and down his forearm, while he lightly grazed the skin just below her belly button. “We can elope, then.”_

_“I think we’re skipping a few crucial steps,” he whispered in her ear. She threw her head back onto his shoulder and pushed his hand down. _

_“Shut up and touch me."_

* * *

The dress she’d settled on was a golden yellow thing with a tie on the side and a low back. She’d _really_ had her sights set on a black number - a jumpsuit, at that - but Sansa had gently reminded her that this was a wedding, not a wake.

It was raining that morning, the morning of the big day - Catelyn was positively beside herself with the stress of finding a last-minute indoor venue, as if anyone in a twenty-mile radius wouldn’t offer their home at the snap of a finger for a Stark event.

Yellow wasn’t Arya’s best color, but she’d been given the task of floral arrangements, so it gave her an excuse to adorn the tables in the small banquet hall with daffodils. She tucked one behind her ear - for good measure and nothing more.

Her little brothers were causing a scene, as usual - something about Rickon insisting on decorating the spokes of Bran’s wheelchair with ribbons - and Ember was dutifully practicing her procession down the aisle, hand in hand with Sansa.

Slipping away undetected was always Arya’s specialty, and she was forever grateful for it. Most of the tension left her neck when she found a small drawing room with a cushioned bench, and she slumped down - back against the wall, shoes instantly discarded.

The rope - the rope was right there, as she extracted her phone from the small clutch she carried. As she steeled herself to grab on.

* * *

**arya:** hey. how are you?

**gendry: **hi. i’m great now, hearing from you

how are you?

**arya:** been better.

i’m at a wedding, if you can believe it

**gendry:** ha, i can’t honestly. whose wedding?

**arya: **my older brother’s. kind of a last-minute thing

**gendry:** well, stay away from those fancy apps

**arya:** it’s a shotgun wedding. do those have fancy apps?

**gendry:** i’m not sure. better keep an eye out though, just to be safe

**arya:** lol. will do

i better get back. just wanted to say hi, while i take a break from standing in this stupid dress

**gendry:** have fun, captain

i’m sure you look lovely.

* * *

Talisa looked beautiful - radiant and weeping and enchanted, as she floated down the aisle toward Robb. He’d audibly gasped when she came into view, and she’d stuck her tongue out at him when she got close enough, and weddings were still overrated, but this one was alright.

For an impromptu, quasi-destination ceremony, they’d really managed to pull together a charming event. Tea candles encircled each daffodil bouquet, in the center of each round table, making everyone sort of shimmer. The room wasn’t very full, but everyone that mattered was there - everyone that mattered to Robb and Talisa anyway, since this was about them.

She and her siblings stood in age order, behind Robb, while Talisa was flanked by a handful of cousins. She saw her brother’s hands shake when Jon passed him the silver band, and he rested his hands on Talisa’s stomach after he slipped it on her finger, and Ember started the applause when they kissed as husband and wife.

Her parents sat in the first of the few rows of seats - Catelyn wiping away free-flowing tears, Ned wearing a proud smile. Everyone laughed when the lights flickered from the thunder outside, and the newlyweds barely had an exit procession, since the reception was set up directly behind the ceremony, but it was perfect. The kind of wedding that made a person want to fight through the speed bumps.

* * *

“The flowers are beautiful, dear.” Catelyn sidled up next to her daughter, offering her a flute of champagne, as she took in the scene. Soft music pulsed, and drinks flowed, and Arya glanced over at her mother, just as she was wiping a wayward tear from the corner of her eye.

“Remind me to catch you when you’re crying more often. You’re much nicer to me,” Arya teased, accepting the drink and clinking Catelyn’s glass.

“Oh, stop it,” Catelyn waved, sniffling once more and blinking rapidly. “It’s nice, though, isn’t it?” Arya nodded. “So much different from your sister’s, but still so lovely.” She raised her eyebrow, then - suddenly suspicious of the conversation’s direction.

“I can’t wait until I can plan another,” her mother sighed.

“It’s impressive, under such a time crunch,” Arya offered, silently hoping Catelyn would take the bait and change course.

“You know,” Catelyn said, a twinkle in her eye, “your father ran into Aegon’s when he was at his conference in Dragonstone last week.” And there it was.

“That’s nice,” Arya said politely.

“I’d heard last year that he was seeing someone, but according to his father, it’s since ended,” Catelyn hinted. She turned to face Arya more fully when she received no reaction. “He’s presently unattached.”

Arya felt her jaw clench. “Cheers. That’s good for him.”

“Maybe you could give him a call, and-“

Her resolve quickly snapped. “I’m gonna stop you right there,” Arya said. “And, what?”

Catelyn sighed. “He was good for you, Arya,” she said. “He is perfectly poised to inherit his father’s company. He was kind to you. He-“

Arya cut her mother off again - this time with an inappropriately loud guffaw. “You mention his _inheritance_ before you mention whether he was nice to me?”

“You’re approaching twenty-six,” her mother said, as if she’d hit her head and needed a reminder. “You’re about to start a job. Your summer of fun is over. It’s time to start taking life a bit more seriously.”

“Are we really doing this?” Arya asked, setting her glass down on the table beside her. She crossed her arms and glanced around the room, having to breathe once to remind herself that they were not alone. “Here? At Robb’s wedding?”

“I’m only suggesting-“

“I mean, I’m just trying to understand,” she said carefully, stopping to smile and wave at Rickon, as he danced by. “I thought this wasn’t about me.”

“It’s not,” Catelyn said bluntly, her expression darkening. “But if you plan to _make_ it about you, with your sighs and your long face, I’d much rather you do it over someone worthy of your time.” Confusion must have swept Arya’s features, because her mother huffed, before setting down her own glass. “Not over a bloody mechanic.”

Arya felt her face pale. “Who told you that?” she asked monotonously.

“Jon mentioned it to your sister, and she told me,” Catelyn said haughtily. Arya felt sick, watching her mother in her prime - lording information.

“We’re not talking about that,” she said - half warning, half plea. “You don’t know anything about him.”

“Sansa is just as concerned as I am, Arya. She has no idea-“

“No,” she cut her mother off, shaking her head. “No. She met him. She’s not…You’re doing it again. You’re trying to isolate me, and it’s not working.” The words left her mouth confidently, but she felt the sudden need to sit down.

“You’ve lost your senses, dear,” Catelyn said patronizingly. “We just want what’s best for you. It’s time to come home and move on.” She nodded her head, eyes closed, as if to signal an end to the discussion - as if Arya had forgotten that her mother’s foolproof solution to everything was just to ‘move on.’

She hadn’t forgotten, though, and it made her next words unnecessary. Walking away without a fight would have been smart - in character for her, even - but her pulse hadn’t ceased its assault on her chest, in her ears, in her fingertips, and the only option for reprieve was to allow it to win.

“I’m coming home, but the _second_ I find a place, I’m gone,” Arya practically spit, her voice an octave lower than usual. Without waiting another beat, she retrieved her glass from the table and strode away - leaving her mother alone.

* * *

It really was feat of engineering - or would it be chemistry? - that there were so many different kinds of drunk. Affectionate and sleepy and grumpy and reckless. Arya wasn’t sure she had a word, though, for champagne drunk. It was one of those feelings, she thought, where all you had to do was say you’d had a shit ton of champagne, and people would just nod sympathetically. Everyone had been there at least once.

She humored Robb with a dance, chatted cordially with Talisa’s mother, and snuck extra baked goods for Ember - all while vigilantly avoiding her brother and sister.

Her shoes came off - and stayed off, this time - and she teetered in place while her father gave a toast to the happy couple. She felt her eyes glaze over at the mention of true love and finding your person and something else about forging pack, because it was her father, and - of course he did. A hiccup interrupted her smile, and she was sure she could find that drawing room again, if she just traced her hand along the back wall.

Another blink, and she was hunched over on the cushioned bench again, head in her hands. The world wasn’t quite spinning - it was more like a wheel that could only spin ten degrees, so it kept _trying_ to spin further, over and over, perfectly synchronized with the pulse in her ears that hadn’t slowed in the wake of her anger.

She missed him. And it was okay to tell him that - Jon had told her that it was okay to tell him that. She pulled out her phone, and she meant to call, but she was typing before she could stop herself, and she told him.

She missed him, and now he knew, and she needed a trashcan.

* * *

The hotel was only five miles away from the banquet hall, and she wasn’t sure which of her pretentious family members had insisted on hiring a fucking motorcade to escort them back, but she was too drunk to care to figure it out. One would think that wanting to keep a low profile might result in some inconspicuous Uber rides instead, but Arya was keeping her mouth shut.

The guests huddled in the dimly lit vestibule, as the cars lined up out front - drivers stepping out with umbrellas to lead folks to cover, one by one. The rain was cascading down sideways, and branches were nearly brushing against the concrete, and she had the strongest urge to just walk all the way back to the inn.

* * *

“No,” she slurred, as Jon and Sansa slid into the backseat next to her. “No, I want to be alone.”

“It’s just a short ride back, and then me and Ember can sleep in Jon’s room, so you can be alone,” Sansa said. She was talking to her like she was a child again. She wasn’t a fucking child.

“You,” Arya said pointing at Jon. “You told her.”

Jon sighed, buckling in Ember, who was fighting tooth and nail to stay awake. “Arya, I-“

“I trusted you,” she continued. “I trusted you, and you told her.” Their car pulled out behind the others and onto the main road, and the rain sounded like bullets on the windshield, but she needed them to be driving faster.

“Why is it a secret?” her sister asked, clearly pushing past the hurt. “What are you afraid of? I just…we just want to help you. We want-“

“What’s best for me, right?” Arya mumbled. “For me to just forget about it, because it’s stupid, it was only…” She took a deep, necessary breath - her voice getting involuntarily louder. “It was only a month, and it’s over.”

“Please don’t wake up my daughter,” Sansa said, a bit harshly. The car slowed a bit more, the driver mumbling something about needing to flash the hazards.

“Look,” Arya asserted, over the hum of the wipers, “I get it, alright? I’m bringing everyone down,” she said, pointing between her siblings, looking at neither. “So, I’ll just…I’m gonna try my best to just…move on, and no one has to worry about Arya anymore.”

“You need to talk about it,” Jon said. He reached out a hand, but Arya pushed it away. “It’s not healthy for you to keep shutting people out.”

“It never would’ve worked anyway,” she continued, speaking now to no one in particular. “He would’ve fucking hated all of this.” Against her thigh, her phone vibrated from inside her clutch.

“Why don’t you rest your head?” Sansa suggested, keeping a protective arm around Ember, who had finally succumbed to sleep. “Just relax, and we’ll wake you when we get back.”

“Good gods, do you want me to talk about it, or not?” Arya groaned. Her phone began to ring again. “Will you just pick one already?”

They had practically slowed to a crawl, and she squinted her eyes to peer out the front windshield. Unsure if it was the champagne or the blur of the rain, she could only make out the glare of the headlights a few feet in front of the car.

“Arya, just-“

“And you told mum!” she exclaimed, an exasperated laugh escaping. “Gods, you both…you know how she twists things, and she…and gets it wrong, and just…everything’s wrong,” she managed through exhales.

Her eyes were burning, and she refused to cry, so she closed them. She heard Jon responding to her accusation, but the ringing in her ears was louder, and her head knocked against the cold window. Her ear against the glass, she felt the thud of the rain against it, and - another knock of her head, more forcefully this time. A forearm braced her stomach as the car lurched forward - the driver slamming on the brakes.

Outside, tires screeched, and a car horn sounded, and shards of glass joined the raindrops, flooding the freeway.

* * *

In movies, Arya always rolled her eyes when the protagonist would wander aimlessly through the scene of an accident - stumbling over nothing, eyes unfocused. Surely shock didn’t have to equate to walking around like a zombie.

But when her eyes shot open, leaping out of the car before her siblings could stop her, she understood. The rain and the alcohol weren’t making it any easier, but it was all she could do not to drop to her knees on the side of the road and quit walking altogether. She felt laser-focused and paralyzed all at once, letting herself become drenched, until she felt someone lift her up off the ground.

She’d dropped to her knees, after all, and she hadn’t even noticed.

* * *

There was a hospital across the street from the hotel, so that was lucky. Somehow, only in a drunken stupor was she able to find the bright side of a situation. She blinked at the paramedic when he asked if she’d hit her head, and she was quickly ushered inside.

Red hair spilled over the side of a stretcher wheeling past her, and she heard the last words she’d spoken to her mother reverberating in her head.

* * *

Ember was crying, and Arya felt angry - nothing was going to happen to anyone. Everyone was going to be fine.

She had a panicked thought from her position - slouched against the wall of the hospital lobby - and searched the growing crowd inside for Talisa. She caught sight of her - worrying her bottom lip and rubbing her stomach protectively - and she closed her eyes in relief.

* * *

“I want…I need to…” Arya tried, approaching the swinging double doors that she’d seen her mother disappear behind. Jon was leaning against the wall next to them, hand in his hair.

He reached out to grab her shoulder. “I sent Sansa and Ember back to my room to sleep. Why don’t you go?”

“Mum and I…we-“

“She’s gonna be fine, Arya,” he placated. “Dad’s with her. She’s just scratched up a bit.”

She felt tears bubbling up, and she’d been doing so well - she wasn’t losing it under fluorescent hospital lights. “I just have to-“

“Go, Arya,” Jon said, using the hand on her shoulder to steer her away. “We don’t need you here. Go get some rest.”

“You don’t need me here,” Arya repeated flatly. The comprehension dawned on Jon’s face, but the damage had been done.

She heard his protests, insisting that he didn’t mean it that way, but she ignored them, as she fixed the damp strap of her dress and walked away.

* * *

Her phone told her it was nearly midnight, and it also told her she had a new voicemail from Gendry. Dread set in, as she remembered the texts she’d sent, but she couldn’t quite think of anything she’d like to hear more than his voice right now, so she pressed play.

“I’m fucking done, Arya. I can’t do this anymore. I’m-“

She’d heard enough. His voice was just as dumb as she’d remembered.

* * *

“Ma’am! Ma’am, are you with the Starks?”

It was the motorcade’s fault. She’d normally head back inside the hospital to tell someone she _told_ them so, but she still wasn’t sure whose idea it was.

“Excuse me, you look like you were at the scene of the accident,” a reporter stepped into Arya’s path. She stepped around him with a glare.

“Do you know Ned and Catelyn Stark?” he asked, following her down to the sidewalk, a cameraman close behind them. “Was their car the one that was hit? Are they-“

“They’re my parents,” Arya scowled, looking through the rain and down the street, before moving to cross. The men started behind her again, and she whipped around, wet hair clinging to her throat.

“With all due respect, please get the fuck out of my face.”

* * *

One hour of fitful sleep was all she could muster, before she was stone cold sober, staring at the ceiling of her hotel room. She hadn’t even bothered to peel off her dress - the golden material almost brown from the rain and smelling of sulphur.

She wasn’t needed there. Somewhere - somewhere inside of her, a voice was telling her she was overreacting and that her siblings had only meant to help. But she’d grabbed the rope, snagged her foot on a loose stone on the wall, and fallen back down - leaving it to dangle far above her reach once again.

Her bag was packed, her clothes changed - all in silence. She grabbed the blue stone from the bedside table and shoved it in the pocket of her sweatpants, leaving behind the new bottle of Diet Coke that had been left sometime earlier that day.

A news van remained in the parking lot across the street, but the chaos had died down at the hospital. She wondered if anyone was still there, or if they’d all decided to get some sleep, too. She wondered how Robb was holding up.

A little over a week - that was how much time she had left before she had to start work. This was what this trip was supposed to be, at its core - a final destination in mind, but no game plan on how to get there. Part of her wanted to head straight for Winterfell now, and another part wanted to turn around and head back south.

She climbed into the van and plugged her phone in and guessed that maybe - hopefully - she’d figure it out once she started driving.

This time, she switched on a podcast, the first one she could think of. She couldn’t stand to be alone with her thoughts. Not yet - not when they were louder than ever, swarming the van as she drove away, with their ‘go home and move ons,’ and their ‘don’t need you heres,’ and their ‘fucking dones.’

The rain had subsided, but she still had to squint to see the road ahead - not because of the weather, but because of the tears finally falling in an unbroken stream down her face.

* * *

“I’m fucking done, Arya. I can’t do this anymore. I’m…shit, I’m going absolutely mad from missing you, so please, if you…if you want a clean break, please, just tell me. I mean, I’m…you didn’t return my calls, and now…I just need to know where you stand, and I can handle it if you want to move on. But I just…for what it’s worth, that’s not what I want. At all. I completely fucking…I fucked up, okay? By not going with you, and I’m sorry, and I’m sorry I don’t make sense and that I’m rambling, but I needed to stay, and now you’re not here, so it all feels kind of pointless. We need…I want to come up with a new plan. So. Just call me, alright? I lo…Fuck. I miss you. I hope you’re okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (i'm very worried that a chapter without gendry is gonna make people astral project right outta here, so if you've made it to the end of this, i owe you one. i tried to make it up to y'all w some flashbacks and some long-distance intensity, but i know we're all here for the real stuff ... i'll make it up to you, i promise)
> 
> thank you all for your sweetness on the last chapter, and for making me feel like i'm not horrible at writing angst. two more chapters left. and with that, i need to lie down 😴🖤


	10. the twins to winterfell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> featuring - curly fries and allies and stupid questions

It was a faded-out billboard that made her finally stop, funnily enough.

It wasn’t the three consecutive calls from Jon, or her dwindling supply of gas, or the fact that she was definitely heading north and - at this rate - she would beat her own family back to Winterfell if she didn’t slow down.

Because of _course_ she was driving toward Winterfell. Even in her deepest throes of despair, in her darkest hours - she was too fucking conscientious and afraid of disappointment to shirk responsibility.

In truth, she’d spent the first hour of her twilight escape from the Twins berating herself even more than she’d been before. What had she honestly been expecting? To get home and fade into the background, to not have to answer for her departure? The impact of her impulsiveness set in more resolutely with each passing mile, faint nausea tucking right in next to it.

Gods, she couldn’t even run _away_ correctly anymore.

It had been a while since she’d had a proper cry hangover - that puffy-faced, swollen-nosed, tight-shouldered ache that meant she’d been exerting muscles that had laid dormant for a little too long. She knew her voice would sound like an absolute catastrophe if she were to try to speak. She could already feel the dull throb crawling behind her eyes, down the base of her neck, and, actually - she’d forgotten about the champagne. There had been a lot of that, too. That likely wasn’t helping.

None of that, though - none of it had been enough to make her pause for so much as a breather. Not until she recognized the torn corner of the sign overhead, the one that advertised the twenty-four-hour diner that she’d only ever visited at this time of night. She rolled her eyes at her own intuition - without even realizing it, she’d been driving the same exact route that her father used to, when they’d road trip back from Riverrun every summer.

And, if her memory served her, Reeds had the best grilled cheese she’d ever tasted, so pulling off of the freeway required very little forethought.

* * *

There was more to it, and that wasn’t even wishful, impractical thinking - there were literally forty-four whole seconds left of the voicemail that she hadn’t played. Not that she needed to, but - they were there, just in case she wanted to torture herself more, at some point. Really drive home the finality of it all.

Arya sat in the parking lot of the restaurant, under the light of a muted streetlamp, and blocked Gendry’s number. She felt lucky to not have amped herself up for some kind of immediate relief, because she would’ve been sorely disappointed if she had.

She clearly couldn’t be trusted in the pit, and the hells would freeze over before she allowed herself to be that vulnerable again - at least not any time soon. Telling him she missed him - missed him ‘so much, so much it broke me in half to drive away that night,’ to be exact - after he had _chosen_ to stay behind? What would her madcap brain come up with next? It had to be done.

The sound of Jon’s soft concern cried out in the back of her mind, asking if she was sure she wasn’t punishing herself. She ignored it and hopped out of the van, striding toward a ripped leather corner booth and curly fries.

* * *

“No way. No _fucking _way,” the young woman behind the bar said, eyes wide. “Joj! Come see who’s here!”

Arya stared curiously at the woman - dark, cropped curls framing her slender face - until the recognition sank in.

“Meera,” Arya said - breathed in surprise, rather.

She’d been used to the place being run by a wizened old man when she was younger, but her fondest memories of making the annual pitstop were centered on sneaking around the kitchens with her younger brothers and the owner’s two kids.

They’d made quite the band of outlaws - so much so, that they’d all kept in touch into their teens. Like she’d done with most things, though, Arya had withdrawn when her mental health had become too severe. And by the time Jon had left, she’d only had the energy for one long-distance relationship.

For some reason, she’d been expecting the same kids when she walked through the door that night - for the place to have somehow frozen in time.

“Arya Stark,” her old friend replied with a smirk. “As I live and breathe.”

“Dude!” yelled a younger man - wide set eyes and a sharp brow - who came barreling toward Arya without preamble. He wrapped her in a bone-crushing hug - one that Arya returned when she realized she still hadn’t moved from her spot in the threshold.

“What are you doing here? Are you alone?” he asked, pulling back to look her over. She must have been a sight for sore eyes, because his enthusiastic expression faltered. “Are you alright?”

“I’m…” Arya croaked, her voice as hoarse as she expected. “I’m-“

“Grilled cheese, right?” Meera cut her off knowingly, already turning toward the kitchen doors. “And extra curly fries?”

* * *

“He passed two years ago,” Jojen explained a bit later. Arya was the restaurant’s only patron, so the three had huddled around a small table by the bar. She chided herself for what she’d thought before - so much of the place really had been frozen in time. The same old records adorning the walls, the same dark green trimming on the tables. The same _sinful_ sourdough bread, grilled to near perfection.

“I’m sorry,” Arya offered. “He was always kind to us.” She paused to swallow her food. “Patient, too,” she added with a sheepish smile.

“We were complete hooligans,” Meera laughed, stealing a fry from Arya’s plate. “Surprised he left us the place, to be honest.”

“He’d be proud of you,” Arya said sincerely.

“I should hope so,” Jojen said, in mock offense. “We kept his terrifying lizard decorations. He’s lucky they don’t drive away paying customers.”

Meera snorted, reaching for another fry. “So,” she started, popping it casually into her mouth. “What’ve you been up to, Stark?”

Arya laughed - the kind of laugh that indicated anything but humor. “How much time do you have?”

* * *

One plate of fries and a round of milkshakes later, Meera was beaming at her from across the table. Jojen looked similarly enraptured. Maybe she’d told the story wrong - it certainly didn’t seem like a happy one to her.

“Which bit of my misery has you in such high spirits?” Arya asked dryly. “The part where we broke up without even being together in the first place, or the part where he wants nothing to do with me, after I drunkenly poured my heart out?”

“First of all,” Meera started, rolling her eyes, “you sounded ‘together’ to me.” Jojen hummed in agreement. “But, no, in all honesty,” she continued, “it sucks. The whole situation. It really does. I’m just happy that you’ve had the chance to experience it.”

“Experience what?” Arya asked.

“Being in love,” Meera responded with a sympathetic smile.

Arya snorted. “Yeah. It’s been a real blast.”

“How’s your brother, by the way?” Jojen piped up.

“Which one?”

“Bran,” he answered, a slight blush creeping onto his cheeks. Meera gasped and nodded emphatically.

“He’s alright,” Arya said, confused by the excitement. “He’s a year out of uni. Going to grad school for public policy.”

Meera sighed wistfully, resting her head on her brother’s shoulder. “We were both crazy for him when we were kids.” She continued at Arya’s silently raised brow. “It’s true! We used to fight over him constantly.”

“Bran,” Arya repeated. “My little brother, Bran. The one who only speaks in riddles.”

“His hair was nice,” Jojen sighed. “Soft-looking.”

“You lot are stranger than I remember,” Arya muttered.

Meera smiled again, wider still. “You didn’t deny it, you know. That you’re in love.”

The siblings shared a laugh when she scowled, casting her head down to play with her straw.

* * *

Arya owed a lot to therapy - her progress and her self-awareness, however punishing it tended to be. Maybe therapy didn’t always have to be something she paid for, though - maybe sometimes it was stumbling upon two old friends who reminded her that time went on, and people changed, but love and care never really went away. Frozen in time.

* * *

“Wait, wait,” Jojen interrupted his sister, slapping her on the arm. “Unmute that.”

Meera reached behind her for the remote she’d left on the bar top and turned the volume up. Arya glanced up from her food and winced.

“Didn’t realize we had a rich girl _and_ a television star in our midst,” Meera said sarcastically, watching intently as Arya glowered at the reporter. Had she really looked that disheveled? As if fleeing the scene hadn’t brought her family enough humiliation.

“You really didn’t tell anyone you were leaving?” Jojen asked, despite having just heard the story.

“No,” Arya said, careful not to sound too harsh - it wasn’t his fault that she’d acted so reprehensibly. She was surprised anyone in her family had bothered calling her at all - surprised that they hadn’t all collectively decided to just give up and let her wither.

“We’re not trying to make you feel worse,” Meera said apologetically. Then, as if she had read Arya’s mind: “Everyone fucks up. They’ll forgive you.”

She thought briefly to ask how Meera could be so sure, but she didn’t. She stayed silent and fiddled with the hem of her sweatshirt and didn’t dare to meet either of their eyes, because she was _not_ going to cry again.

“Everything’s a mess,” she said instead.

“_Life_ is a mess!” Jojen countered. “And, don’t worry. I won’t give you that whole ‘it could be worse’ speech, because that shit sucks. But you’ll…you’re gonna survive the mess. Trust me.”

This time, she did ask.

“You’re a fucking Stark,” Meera said definitively. “Isn’t that your whole deal?”

* * *

She didn’t realize how much time had passed until other people finally entered the diner - a young man, looking worn from travel, and a woman not far behind. Arya observed them as they settled into a booth, ordered food, relaxed in each other’s company. The man was blond, and the woman was _way_ taller than she was, but there was still something so familiar about the way their eyes lingered on each other. She found that she couldn’t look on for too long, without the tightness in her stomach becoming too much to bear.

She turned her attention, then, to the Reeds - they had sprung into action, tending to the newcomers and running the place with ease. Arya fought against every voice in her head telling her that they were relieved to have an intermission from her gloom.

With nowhere else to look, she closed her eyes. A hollow ache filled her chest at the thought that it had been hours since Jon had last called, and a pang of shame immediately followed - phones worked both ways. She had service in the pit, when she really worked for it - stood on a stool and held the phone up toward the mouth, or something. She wasn’t completely helpless.

From across the restaurant, Jojen said something that made Meera laugh - head tossed back, hand clutching her chest, echoing off the walls. A brother and a sister were holding onto each other, and the sun outside was just beginning to rise, and she just needed a little bit of sleep.

Then, she would call.

* * *

Meera shoved a stack of Styrofoam, leftover-filled containers at her, and the siblings insisted on walking her back out to the van. Arya was reminded of the visits from her youth - when the Reeds would run after the Stark caravan, waving at them until they were out of sight. She smiled fondly at the memory, not so distant anymore.

Jojen told her not to be a stranger, as she turned the key in the ignition - the trigger of that sound still quite raw, she found. She was confused by her sudden, defensive reaction to his request, until she realized that it was because that was _all_ she wanted - to be a stranger.

It was effortless to picture life without someone when you were just a stranger to them - easy to make peace with diverging paths. Easy to look at the extraordinary and the mundane and everything in between, and not be reminded of what was, or haunted by what could have been.

She’d much rather just be a stranger. Being anything more than a stranger had done her exactly zero favors.

* * *

Two hours of sleep was all her body could afford her, until she couldn’t wait any longer. She sucked in a deep breath, eyes shut tight, and dialed her brother.

“Ah, okay,” Jon answered curtly. “I was beginning to wonder if you’d lost your hearing.” He cleared his throat abruptly. “Lost your phone, maybe. Forgotten how to use it.”

“I get it,” Arya sighed, her voice quiet.

“Where…no. Not where. Why, first.” He sounded different. She didn’t like it. “Why the fuck did you leave?”

Arya didn’t answer right away - partly because her throat had constricted and partly because she knew any answer that she gave would be a sorry excuse.

“I…it was just…too much,” was what she came up with, and somehow it was worse than saying nothing at all.

“Too much?” he asked gruffly. “Right. I guess it was just fine for the rest of us, then? Maybe not even enough?”

“Jon, please,” she started.

“Listen to me. Carefully,” he demanded. “I get it. I mean, I don’t…_get_ it, but…you know what I mean. I know that you’re in pain. It _kills_ me that you’re in pain.” He took a deep, steadying breath. “But I’m trying so hard not to be furious with you right now.”

Arya felt her stomach turn. “You don’t-“

“Understand? No!” he exclaimed. “You’re absolutely right! I understand your struggles and the shit you’re going through, but, no, I do _not_ understand why you would leave.”

“Everyone leaves,” she said mechanically. “People leave all the time.”

“You’re not serious,” he said in disbelief. “I _had to leave_, Arya! For fuck’s sake! Usually people have better reasons than ‘it was just too much.’ Especially when they claim to care about the people they’re leaving.”

“I do care,” she responded meekly. Her heart wasn’t in the argument - her brain was too busy telling her she deserved it.

“That was quite the gesture, then.”

“You’re being mean,” she snapped. “You don’t think I feel shitty enough as it is?”

“Mum was airlifted to Winterfell General,” he pressed on, ignoring her. “You know, since you care. Allergic reaction to some meds. Dad has a sprained wrist. Robb and Tal are unharmed but understandably rattled, what with it being-“

“Enough,” she cut in. “I don’t need tough love, alright?” She felt her pulse in her ears then, and she really wished she’d gotten a bit more sleep. “Gods, if I wanted this treatment, I would’ve just called Sansa.”

“Where are you?” Jon asked abruptly.

“Greywater Watch.”

He sighed again, another long exhale, and oh, she could _kick_ herself for the fact that she was thinking about Gendry and the way he controlled his breathing. She was an absolute disgrace.

“I know you regret your impulse,” Jon said in a clearly forced calm. “Because I know you. And I know that you still have your issues with mum and with everyone, and I just…I just thought it was different with you and me.” His voice was completely dispirited when he spoke again. “It hurt.”

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, not bothering to stop the tears from brimming over.

“Look, I have to go,” he said. He sounded tired. “We’ll…yeah. Later. I just need to go. Don’t wanna give either of us anything more to regret.”

Once again, she had no appropriate response at the ready, but it mattered none, since he promptly ended the call.

* * *

The dawn was just beginning to break on Greywater Watch, and a light fog settled onto the park where Arya had set up camp. She noticed because of the dew on the windows - not because she’d walked through it, felt it on her skin. That would have required leaving the van.

She spent the entire day huddled on her side - truly cold, for the first time in two months. Autumn always crept into summer’s end up north, and the reminder that she was getting closer to home did nothing to warm her.

Between naps, she vaguely wished she’d paid less attention to Gendry and more attention to what he was actually doing, every time he built her a fire.

* * *

Arya had a funny relationship with promises. Like rules, she cynically felt like they were made to be broken. Like surprises, they only put her on edge - waiting for the kicker that would leave her flat on her back, knocked out cold.

Her father had been promised a massive grant last year - one that he didn’t necessarily _need_, but one that would have made his affordable housing project move along a bit more assuredly, all the same. It was given to The Frey Group, instead - as if the Trident needed another stupid bridge. The doctors had promised - sworn up and down - that Bran would walk again, and if she still had that hit list, those assholes would be at the top. Theon and Sansa had promised each other a long lifetime of happiness, only for the universe to tear it away from them before they’d even had a chance to try.

Gendry had promised that it was just a speed bump.

No, she was _very_ careful when it came to promises. She’d told her mother and sister that she’d be careful on this trip, and she had been - for the most part. She’d promised to tell Gendry about her depression, and she had - for better or for worse. But generally, she tried her best to avoid situations in which she owed someone something. They did very little for her anxiety.

She found, though, on her way out of Greywater Watch the following day, that making promises to herself felt different than all of that. There was no outside party, drumming their fingers on a metaphorical table, waiting for her to make good. It was just her - in charge of the outcome, in charge of her own potential disappointment.

Maybe it was because it required no physical exertion - to just speak a promise into existence - and those were her tasks of choice in the pit. Or maybe it was because Jon had never been so forthright with her in his anger. How had she allowed herself to sink so low that she’d hurt the one person she swore she never would? That was another promise broken, and yes, that was what did it.

She drove north - despite every thick cable tying her down, drawing her away - and she promised herself she would fight. She would pull her own self out - she could.

A call came, a few hours into her drive, from a job she’d wrote in for months ago - some outreach coalition in Braavos, to which she actually recalled applying to out of spite. When all she wanted was to fly away, start over, and not be Arya Stark anymore. They wanted to interview her, and five days ago - even yesterday - she may have agreed.

But she politely declined, thanked them for their consideration, and carried on. Perhaps if things were different, that was a chance she’d take, but she had a more important wall to climb. And a foot on the gas, a sharp eye forward, and a steady breath were the first steps up.

* * *

They would have been at Castle Black by that point. She would have killed to have seen Gendry, on top of the Wall, silently taking in something he’d never seen.

He got this guileless gleam in his eye when he looked at something he liked - she saw it when he stared out at the ocean, when he stared at her. He would’ve said something profound, probably. About how they’d made it, or how they were on top of the world, or some other deep proclamation that she wouldn’t allow herself to envision.

Gas. Forward. Steady.

* * *

The promise was made, and that felt like enough, for the time being. When Arya pulled into a campground that night, just along the northern edge of Moat Cailin, she had the brief urge to call her sister, but no - she didn’t need anyone’s help, she reminded herself. She didn’t need allies in this fight, and that felt sort of wrong on some level, but who was she to question the process?

She turned her phone off completely to avoid further temptation.

* * *

Moat Cailin was aptly named - wet, mostly, but with an air of fortitude. Like it was guarding something just out of reach. There was something so predictably poetic about that place likely being her last stop before her homecoming.

Luckily, no one in their right mind wanted to spend the last days of summer trudging through marshes, so even when Arya ventured outside of the van the next day, she was alone. Luckily. She was lucky to be alone. She was alone, and that’s what she wanted, and she was lucky.

A night without her phone turned into an entire day without her phone, and she found it a welcome reprieve. This was about climbing and staying focused, and she didn’t need anyone else’s distractions. In her head, everyone was already mad, and they’d still be mad in a few days when she could at least give them the satisfaction of watching her crumble while they admonished her immaturity.

This, right then, was about her.

She wandered along the water, in and out of the small shops dotting the coastline, determined to make the remainder of her trip somewhat of a success. The ground positively wrecked her shoes, and when she felt mud start to seep into her socks, she sought refuge in a hole in the wall sports bar while they dried.

The Giants were on - one more win, and they would lock in their championship spot. Arya hated watching baseball games alone, but she stuck around for a bit anyway. When she made to leave, the chyron on the screen began streaming live news updates - ‘Drought Persists in Sunspear’ and ‘Stark Matriarch Discharged on Good Health’ and ‘Peace Talks with Meereen to Commence Ahead of Schedule’ - so she decided to stay for just one more inning.

She picked up dinner much later - pieced it together, really, from what she could find at a convenience store. She tossed a postcard on top of her pile at the checkout counter, before she could talk herself out of it.

* * *

She almost hated to do it, but she needed her GPS.

After an hour of sleep, followed by three hours of tossing and turning, Arya was ready to drive again. Four more days stood between her and her job, and she was looking forward to spending one more day off the grid - undoubtedly, one more day, and she would be fine. She was sort of close to White Harbor, so maybe she’d try to visit her old roommate Wylla, or maybe she would just sail away, after all - who knew.

So, she turned on her phone, swiped robotically at the onslaught of texts from her sibling group chat that came flowing in. She had braced herself for that, so she soldiered on. One particular name, the one she wanted to see the most, did not appear - she had braced herself for that, too.

Finger hovering over the screen, ready to begin her route, the last of her missed messages filtered through - one that she hadn’t prepared for. She knew she was supposed to be soldiering on, but she could tell that the nagging voice inside of her wouldn’t quiet until she called, made sure he was alright.

_Then_, she would soldier.

* * *

It was already ringing before she realized how early it was - then again, Ned Stark had always been an early riser. She’d always resented it on weekend mornings growing up, but she figured it might work to her advantage right then.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he answered warmly - expectantly, like he had no fear that she wouldn’t call. She thought she could probably murder someone in cold blood, and her father would still answer the phone like there was no one else he’d rather talk to. She shouldn’t be feeling - no. She didn’t deserve this.

“Hi, dad,” she said quietly.

“How are you?” Like it was an ordinary day, like they were catching up after a busy week. She felt sick, a little bit - of course, the most banal question would be the thing to remind her that nothing about this was normal.

Her mouth opened to reply, and a lump immediately developed in her throat. “I’m...” she started, swallowing pronouncedly. Her voice came out next in an unintentional whisper. “I’m not okay.”

He didn’t say anything at first - almost like he was waiting to see if she’d elaborate. He’d always been patient - more patient than she could ever imagine being - and she knew he’d sit there on the phone with her all day, if he could. A few beats of silence passed, and she had no clue if her voice would betray her if she spoke again, so she opted for more silence.

“Tell me what I could’ve done,” Ned prompted matter-of-factly. Surely - surely, he wasn’t serious.

“What?”

“Tell me what I could’ve done,” he said again, his tone impossibly gentler. “So that you wouldn’t have felt like you had to leave.”

He was missing the point, and she was already feeling so many things, and she did _not_ want to be frustrated - not with him. “There’s not…You didn’t do anything wrong,” she huffed.

“Was there anything that anyone could’ve done?”

_No,_ but - well. Yes. Maybe. She said nothing, turning his words over in her head.

“I’m not angry with you,” her father continued. “I don’t know that I’ve ever been angry with you, Arya.”

She had to laugh - empty, but still a laugh. “You were angry when I flung pie at Sansa during your company holiday party and ruined the hoeur d’oeuvres table,” she tried weakly.

“Hardly,” he chuckled. “Just needed to act tough in front of my associates. Can’t have people that work for me thinking I’m some softie.”

Arya closed her eyes and felt her cheeks flush - warm and prickly. “I want you to be angry with me,” she realized.

She squeezed her eyes tighter when she heard him sigh. “I don’t want to tell you that you were wrong,” he started. “Because I think you already feel that way. And since you can’t tell me what it is that I could’ve done,” he conditioned, pausing to breathe again, “then I want you to tell me what it is that I can do.”

“Nothing,” she repeated flatly - something unmistakably bumpier threatening to burst through. “I need to get over it. I just…I need to.” She released an exhale of her own, a bit of her voice escaping with it, in a dejected, tearless sob. “I have to do it by myself.”

“Okay,” Ned relented quickly - almost too quickly. “What are you doing, then? To get over it?” Not once had his voice lapsed into a tone that even remotely suggested the gravity of the conversation. For all Arya knew, he was half-listening - talking to her while he read the paper or answered emails or something.

He kept going, over her reflection. “You are tough as nails,” he said adoringly. “Always have been. Even when you don’t think so. It takes a lot of courage to do what you do. And to want to help other people do it, too…” he trailed off, and she was starting to see where he was going with all of this.

“I admire you greatly. I just hope what you’re doing now…how you’re choosing to cope,” he paused. She knew then - she knew what was coming. “I hope it’s what you would tell those kids.”

The lower half of her face nearly folded in on itself, as tears now streamed openly down her cheeks. The world outside her window was getting brighter, and she sniffled to catch her breath, and she wished he was there. She needed a hug.

“Lean in, Arya,” he said softly. “It doesn’t make you weak.”

She laughed - fuller this time - through her tears. “It would be so much easier if you were mad at me.”

“Fathers don’t get mad at their favorites.”

“Dad,” she muttered affectionately, wiping down her cheeks.

“Where are you, little wolf?” he asked.

“Um,” she started, sniffling again and looking up for the first time in minutes. She still had quite a few bearings to collect. “I’m near the Barrowlands, I think.”

“Ahh,” he sounded. “Snowin’ yet?” Ned Stark was one of the most powerful men in Westeros, but he was always good for a dumb quip about the weather - a true dad at heart.

“Feels like it might,” she quipped right back. Then, before she could think: “I’ve missed it up here.”

“Catch that game yesterday?” he asked. She could hear the smile in his voice, could see him leaning back in his desk chair with his legs crossed, as her eyes closed again. Tension drained from her shoulders.

“Yeah,” she laughed lightly. “Towers had better get his act together if they’re gonna bring this thing home. He’s lucky that ump was kicking dirt.”

“When you get home, we can figure out where we’re gonna watch game one,” he said definitively. “We have to pull out all the stops.”

“Yeah,” Arya said again - smiling, too. “Okay.”

“When _will_ you be home?” he finally asked.

Outside, the sun was getting higher still. She’d write Wylla Manderly, maybe, or ring her up once she got settled at the new job. And sailing away, all on her own - suddenly she couldn’t think of anything she’d rather do less. She could hardly believe she’d even considered it.

“I’ll be home tonight,” she promised.

Gas. Forward. Steady.

* * *

When the call finally ended, dawn had broken so distinctly, that she no longer needed headlights - just the sun. She rolled the windows down, and she turned her music to a pleasant volume, and she suddenly realized - she was out.

She’d grabbed on, and hoisted up, and she was out.

* * *

Thinking about Gendry - outside of the pit, without him there - was certainly a different experience. The light parts, the soft parts - they had all been cloaked in the shadows with her. Locked in a drawer, and she didn’t have the key.

Now, though, she found herself dwelling not on the way his breathing evened out in the heat of anger or on the sharp blue of his eyes. She was reminded instead of his touch - fatally gentle, despite roughened fingertips. She was reminded of the lilt in his voice when he talked about design and his mother and the stars. She was reminded of a slow dance, of honesty - of how she’d instantly pushed him away and played into his worst fears, driving away without a second glance.

The Barrowlands were desolate, and she was mostly glad for it. It would have been nice to have a view to take in for her journey home, but it would have been a pity to take it in alone.

Because she was alone, and she cursed the pit for making her think that was what she wanted - it wasn’t what she wanted. Not at all. 

* * *

_“I’m sorry. You’re _what?_”_

_Arya shifted in her desk chair and glared at her sister through the webcam. “Did I stutter?”_

_“You did actually cut out a bit on my end, so kind of,” Jon’s pixelated face piped up._

_“I’m gonna come visit you!” Arya repeated, enunciating more this time. “Both of you.”_

_“She’s driving across the country by herself,” Sansa added judgmentally. _

_“What?!” Jon yelled._

_Arya threw her head back and groaned. “It’s not that big of a deal.”_

_“Does mum know?” her sister asked._

_“No, not yet.”_

_“Can I please be there when you tell her?”_

_Arya rolled her eyes, and opened her mouth to respond, only to be cut off by her brother. “How the fuck long is that drive?”_

_“I don’t know,” she said flippantly. “I’m gonna spread it out over like…a month and a half, or something.”_

_“Aren’t you gonna get bored?” he asked incredulously._

_“Yeah, driving all by yourself?” Sansa added. “I would lose my mind.”_

_Arya stared at the camera, unamused. Didn’t they know she’d already thought about all of this? “I’m good at being by myself,” she said. “I’m sure I’ll be just fine.”_

_“I don’t know,” Jon said - low and unsure. “Seems like a recipe for disaster.”_

_“No, you know what?” Sansa chimed in suddenly, her tone lighter. “This totally tracks. Watch, Jon - she’s gonna get to you all enlightened with, like…pink hair and a septum piercing and a litter of stray cats.”_

_“Sansa,” Arya grumbled._

_Jon laughed. “Vegan, too,” he added. “Start carrying around crystals and shit.”_

_“Yes!” Sansa cackled. “All of a sudden, she’ll be able to speak the Old Tongue.”_

_“I don’t have to take this from either of you, you know,” Arya asserted. “I can just head straight for Winterfell.”_

_“You are my absolute favorite person in the world to tease,” Jon said with a smile and a shake of his head. “And I’m so glad you two get along now, so I can finally have an accomplice.”_

_“We love you,” Sansa assured her. “If it’s gonna make you happy, then I guess we’re all for it.”_

_“_Thank_ you,” Arya exhaled, throwing her hands up._

_“Mum will give you some speech, I’m sure, about not isolating yourself, so I don’t wanna go there, but just…” Jon trailed off. “I’m fine with it, but we’re here if you need us. You know that, right?”_

_A sigh escaped her lips, as she took in her siblings - different in almost every way, but so strikingly alike in their protection of her. For a minute, she almost wished she didn’t have to tell anyone else about her trip. She also kind of wished they could come with her, and she almost asked, but she decided to quit while she was ahead. _

_“Yeah,” she said, jerking her head back in a nod. “I know.”_

* * *

It was six hours to home, and Arya was nothing if not a woman of her word - though she had some help getting out of the pit, her fight was far from over.

Robb answered her FaceTime on the second ring - she’d pulled off the interstate about an hour in, to top off her gas tank and buy the tallest coffee she could find. He looked exhausted, like he maybe wasn’t in the mood to deal with her right then, and she wouldn’t have blamed him - but his eyes softened instantly when he saw her face. Apologies had always meant a lot to her older brother - he was the honorable one, the example. She cried for the second time that day when she expressed her regret, and he cried, too - when he told her that he loved her.

She caught up on her missed messages before she hit the road again, and it appeared that Sansa and Ember had opted to stay in Winterfell for the time being. Her sister was harder to crack when it came to remorse - both in giving it and in accepting it. Arya anticipated a steely reception, so she did her best not to be discouraged when that call went unanswered.

She called Bran in the third hour. One sentence into her apology, he stopped her and told her that he already knew. They talked for another thirty minutes - about the Reeds, mostly.

Rickon was, unsurprisingly, the easiest. She texted him to ask if he was mad, and he told her to buy him a handle of vodka for his upcoming end of summer party, and then they’d be square. She had a feeling that they were already square without the favor, but she was happy to accommodate.

She hadn’t actually planned to speak with Jon until she got home, but he called _her,_ just as she entered the home stretch. It was a boring question - he couldn’t remember whether it was she who was telling him about the new Kingsguard album, or if it was a buddy from the base - but she followed his lead and found that the last hour of the drive flew by quite pleasantly.

She texted her mother a wolf emoji, and she unblocked Gendry’s number, right as she pulled into the city limits of Winterfell.

* * *

If the van had looked out of place at the fancy hotel, then it looked absolutely preposterous parked in front of the main house. She’d have to return it soon, but she’d table that casserole of emotions for a later time.

Because right then, her father was sat on the front porch with Jon - Nymeria and Ghost curled at their feet. The sun had already set, and Arya could only make out a few lights coming from within the mansion - the scene almost entirely lit by the moon.

She was greeted by a chorus of cricket chirps, a slice of coffee cake already plated for her on the table, and her dog running circles around her, as she climbed the front steps and threw herself into two pairs of open arms.

* * *

Everything was the same as Arya remembered.

And when she finally made it up to her room - properly worn out and ready to rest for days - she found her sister and niece cuddled together under her comforter, sound asleep. She wasted no time sliding in beside them, pressing a kiss to Sansa’s hair, and wrapping her arms around both of them.

* * *

Somewhere amidst the chaos, she’d lost track of the days of the week - there had been far more important things going on for her to concern herself with details like that.

Evidently, though, it was Saturday.

Arya woke to Sansa and Ember still curled under the duvet, to the quiet of the early morning. Her blinds had always been hopeless in keeping out the sun, so the dimness of the room gave away just how early it was. As silently as she could, she slipped out of bed and headed for the kitchen. She could already tell that she was awake for good, and there was no use lying there - no use in letting her anxiety stew.

Had she known it was Saturday, though, she might have delayed her search for the rest of that coffee cake, because perched on a stool at the counter sat her mother - plush bathrobe draped over her slender frame, steaming cup of tea cradled in her delicate hands, the evidence of an IV bruise peeking out from one of her sleeves.

She looked contemplative. Not tired - because Arya was convinced that Catelyn Stark never actually slept - but lost in thought. Found preserved in a moment that could have easily been extracted from any Saturday morning from Arya’s childhood - with just a few faint scratches to prove that it was not, in fact, a flashback.

“Oh,” Arya whispered in surprise, causing her mother to snap out of her reverie and look in her direction. “I’m sorry, I’ll just-“

She was cut off by the sound of metal sliding across the kitchen floor, the sight of her mother setting down her drink and rising to stand. Catelyn looked at her without a trace of consternation - like she had been waiting for her.

“Will you take a walk with me?” she asked.

Arya felt her stomach lurch, but she swallowed and nodded. She took a little longer than she needed to return to her room and retrieve shoes.

* * *

The air by the weirwoods was still, soft, a bit misty - the way late summer mornings in Winterfell tended to be. Arya followed her mother under the shade of the branches, studying her face out of the corner of her eye. It was a delicate balance she knew all too well - waiting to see who would be the first to break the silence.

“I want to apologize for the way I acted at the reception,” Catelyn started quietly. “I was unkind.”

The astonishment at such a rare admission of penance from her mother made Arya’s head snap up, no longer bound by the restrictions of a side-eye.

“Um. It’s…it’s okay,” she stammered. The pair walked a few more paces in silence, before Arya remembered that she owed her mother the same sentiment. “I’m-“

“I’m not finished yet,” Catelyn cut her off, her voice rising to normal volume.

“Oh. Sorry,” Arya said anyway.

“Have I ever told you about my twenty-first birthday?” Catelyn asked.

“I…don’t think so.” Arya spoke hesitantly, but already she was wary of her mother’s tone. Catelyn had a propensity for lecturing all of her children - particularly her youngest daughter - and she was prepared to turn on her heel, back toward the house, at the first whiff of that behavior.

“It was the day I found out I was pregnant with Robb,” Catelyn explained. She looked at her daughter then, really looked at her for the first time since they stepped outside. “I was terrified,” she said. “I wanted it so, so badly, but then it happened, and I had this moment where I just…wanted the ground to swallow me up. I didn’t tell your father for weeks.”

Perhaps the accident had made Catelyn forget which of her children was which - surely, this was not a conversation she meant to be having with the one that had abandoned the family in their time of need.

“What were you afraid of?” Arya asked carefully.

“I wanted to get it right,” Catelyn said plainly. “All new parents want that, but I…needed to get it right. And I knew I’d figure out a lot of it as I went, and I knew…” She took a slow breath, in and out. “I knew how incredible your father would be,” she continued, a bit shakily. “But I was terrified of having a child like me.”

Arya looked at her more closely, confusion definitely mounting across her features.

“And then Robb came out practically changing his own diapers, and I thought, ‘Okay. Maybe I can do this,’” Catelyn said with conviction. “And we took Jon in, but he wasn’t mine, not by blood. So, he was safe.” She looked straight ahead again, her voice dropping a bit. “But then I was pregnant again, and it was a girl, and I panicked all over again.”

Arya knew this part well enough, and she wasn’t sure she needed to hear all about what a blessing, what a gift from the gods her sister had been - nor did she really understand why her mother thought that would help.

“But your sister,” Catelyn continued, missing the visible grimace on Arya’s face. “She looked just like me, but she was soft. And she liked pretty things, and she reminded me so much of Lysa. And I was relieved, because I figured…maybe we’ll be nothing alike, but maybe that means we’ll have things to give each other. Teach each other.”

“And then…” Arya trailed off with a sarcastic smile. They both knew who came next.

To her surprise, her mother smiled - smiled wider than she had the whole time. “I really was in labor for three days,” she said fondly. “Your father gave you your nickname before you were even born, because you were already doing us in.” Arya smirked, in spite of herself. “And then you looked just like him. And it was different. I can’t explain how I knew, but…it was just different.”

As surprisingly sweet as the memory was, Arya was lost.

“I’m not sure I follow what you’re trying to say,” she admitted, as gently as she could. The last thing she wanted to do was shatter whatever moment they’d found themselves in.

She heard Catelyn take another deep breath. “So much was expected of me as a young person. Too much responsibility and independence for a child to assume.”

Arya nodded quietly. She’d heard about it all, for as long as she could remember - how often her grandfather traveled, how easily her grandmother became overwhelmed trying to raise her children. How quickly her mother needed to step up, needed to grow up faster than any young person should, when her grandmother died in childbirth.

It was easy to forget where Catelyn came from sometimes - usually the reminders came in the heat of an argument, when her mother was justifying some micro-aggression or another. Before Arya could ruminate on how different this conversation felt from all of the others, Catelyn continued.

“I think…I think that you were so strong-willed and hot-headed and whip-smart, that when things got hard…with your brother’s fall, and with life, and…” She paused - looking at her daughter, through seemingly new eyes. “I put those same expectations on you.”

Deep-seated defense mechanisms bubbled to the surface - Arya snorted. “Sorry. I just…I always thought you were hard on me because I’m so unlike you.”

This time, Catelyn’s smile reached all the way to her eyes. “You may look just like your father, dear,” she started, “but I see more of myself in you than in any of my children.”

With that, the haze of the conversation finally cleared.

“I’m what you were afraid of,” Arya muttered - half dejectedly, half understandingly. She looked back toward the house - they had nearly circled the entire backyard, so it would be a short walk back. She knew now - knew how her mother really saw her. Maybe she’d start apartment hunting sooner than she thought.

The disorientation, the weight, the vulnerability - they made the next bit all the more unforeseen.

“I’m always trying, Arya. To be a better person,” Catelyn said. “I’m kind of…looking back from the other side with open eyes for the first time, and I’m thankful that I have some scars to show for the way I had to grow up. But I was never affirmed.” She cleared her throat and halted abruptly, causing Arya to come to a stop beside her. “I think…I think I failed to affirm you. In the midst of trying to balance all of this. I’ve always told you how smart you are and how proud I was of your accomplishments.”

She reached her hand out then, lightly grasping Arya’s. Her hands were cold - it was grounding, somehow.

“I’ve always put all of the value on what you did. Not on who you are.”

Arya felt her heart stop, saw something she didn’t recognize in her mother’s eyes that spurred her forward. “Mum, I-“

“I should have told you,” Catelyn carried on, closing her eyes - almost like she was summoning the strength to speak words that were long overdue. “I should have told you that you’re loyal. And that you’re funny. And that you’re very tough, but you’re very sensitive, and it’s alright to be both.”

Before she could even attempt a response, Catelyn used her hold on Arya’s hand to steer them onward. It was oddly comforting - how _un_comfortable, how out of her element her mother seemed.

“That year. The year we didn’t speak,” her mother prompted. “I was so angry with you, that you would-“

“You called me for three days straight,” Arya chimed in, finally feeling able to contribute.

“I did,” Catelyn agreed. “But I stopped when I realized.”

“Realized?”

“You were twenty-one,” she said - as if the answer were obvious. “And what was I doing at twenty-one? Trying to have a child, so I could forget about my own pain. You were doing everything that I should have done.”

Arya raised an eyebrow at that. Catelyn chuckled lightly - a sound neither had heard in a while.

“Well. Not everything,” she conceded. “But you were taking care of yourself. So, I stopped calling.”

“It’s not too late, you know,” Arya said. “To take care of yourself.” Because she couldn’t help it - she couldn’t pass up the opportunity to pitch self-care. She didn’t know when she’d get her mother like this again, so she was taking every chance she got.

“I do admire you, Arya,” Catelyn said warmly. “In a way, I’m glad I was firm with you. Look how brilliant you are.” She stopped them again, reached out a hand to rub her daughter’s arm. “You’re going to make a difference. You already have.” Her hand was still cold, but only warmth radiated from her in that moment. “I’m still sorry, though. And I hope it’s not too late to forgive me, either.”

Countless responses filtered through Arya’s head - how much she still had to process, how unprepared she was for this gravity at such a tender hour of the morning. How it was sure to be a long road.

Instead, she reached for her mother’s other hand and pulled her into a hug.

“I’m glad I came home,” she said softly. The women stood, locked in each other’s arms for what felt like an eternity, and when Arya pulled back, her mother’s eyes glistened with tears.

“Your therapist,” Catelyn began, turning forward again to continue walking. “The one in Oldtown.”

“Dr. Forel?” Arya clarified, furrowing her brow.

“Does that…Do you think-“

“Oh, yeah,” Arya assured her. “I was gonna give him a call at some point this week. I know, I have to get back into the swing of things with that, but I’m just-“

“No, no,” Catelyn interrupted. “That’s not…I was going to ask if he helps you.”

Arya tilted her head - she was back to side-eyeing. “He does.”

“And I was going to see whether you might be able to help me find someone.”

It was Arya’s turn to stop the walk - another chance she would never forgive herself for passing up. She stared at her mother resolutely. “Yeah. I think I can.”

Catelyn bowed her head - clearly embarrassed about asking for help. Flashes of a stand-off outside of a convenience store, of shared apologies, of inexplicable trust - they had Arya looking at the ground herself, hoping that her mother had missed the sudden shift.

“So,” she heard, and she knew she’d been caught. “You’re in love with this boy.”

Arya lifted her head to see her mother’s trademark eyebrow raise. She could only groan.

“What’s his name, again?” Catelyn asked.

“It doesn’t matter,” Arya moaned, throwing her head back in exasperation.

“Well,” Catelyn started, a slight smile in her voice, “whoever he is, he’s made a huge mistake.” She reached out a hand again - this time to brush a loose strand of hair behind Arya’s ear.

“You really are the most beautiful girl,” Catelyn added - sounding more like a mother than Arya had maybe ever heard. She flushed.

“Mum. You have another daughter.”

“Oh, hush-“

“You have a _grand_daughter, I’m-“

“Take it,” her mother demanded - sounding much more like herself.

Arya smiled, shaking her head and looping her mother’s arm, leading them both back to the house.

* * *

The rest of the weekend passed without incident.

She made lunch plans with Jon, and she made that alcohol run for Rickon, and she - against her better judgment - let her mother and sister take her shopping ahead of her first day of work. Her father made her promise to be available for dinner on Friday night - as if she would have anywhere else to be - and she thought her face might split in two from smiling so wide when Talisa asked her if she wanted to join them for their doctor’s appointment that week.

She returned the van - not before rummaging through it, to make sure nothing had been left behind. When she came up empty, she tried her best not to be disappointed.

Monday morning came fast, but Arya was more than ready to dive headfirst into her work. She sat with her parents in the breakfast nook for coffee, feeling like a proper adult. She got to the office early anyway, muffin for the front desk receptionist in hand, and brought mementos to adorn her desk - photos of her family, and a mug she’d stolen from her favorite café in Oldtown, and a handful of postcards.

They were giving her a light caseload, since she was just starting out. All day, she expected to have that moment - that moment where she would second-guess everything and wonder whether she hadn’t made a colossal mistake in choosing her career - but it never came.

Her second appointment of the day was a twelve-year old boy with jet-black hair - raised by a single mother, no outlet for his anger, a crippling fear of abandonment. She wished she wasn’t so concerned with making a good impression, or else she would have taken her lunch break right after he left, much earlier than appropriate.

* * *

Gendry hadn’t reached out. Not even a text - not since she’d unblocked him, anyway. Sure, her mother had tried for three days before giving up, but she was her _mother._ Gendry had no reason to try for longer.

* * *

“Everything looks fantastic, Ms. Maegyr. You’re progressing beautifully. Are you both interested in the sex?”

Talisa shook her head gently, at the same time that Robb exclaimed an emphatic ‘yes.’

“I feel like I shouldn’t be here,” Arya whispered to her brother.

“Shh,” Robb hissed. “You wanna know, too. We’ve got her outnumbered.”

“Oy!” Talisa yelled from the exam table. “I’m the one carrying it. My vote means more.”

“You just called our unborn child an ‘it.’ We have to find out, so we can at least avoid that.”

“How do you know they’re only gonna be either a him or a her, Stark?” Talisa challenged.

“Sorry, loser,” Arya said definitively, patting her brother on the shoulder. “I’m on your wife’s side.”

* * *

She Skyped with Dr. Forel on Tuesday night. Her prediction had been right on the money - one hour was not nearly enough time to unpack all that the summer had been.

He recalled the conversation they had before she left - when she said she didn’t know what she wanted to gain from her trip, but that she also didn’t _want_ to know. She silently wished she could go back in time - have a long, serious talk with her old self and warn her about what exactly she was about to get into.

After gentle reminders that her journey was not linear, and that she was not the pain that she felt, and that she needed to treat every part of her - even the sad parts - with the same amount of love, she moved from her desk to her bed. Back in Oldtown, she usually cried after therapy, but this time she felt sort of numb - like the part of her body that typically clung to those reminders had fallen asleep, and she needed to shake it around a bit to wake it up.

She sat with her mother in the living room for two hours after that - a laptop set up between two cups of coffee, teaching her what to look for in her search for help. She rolled her eyes but obliged when Catelyn made her go to the website for her new office, so she could look proudly at Arya’s staff headshot.

* * *

“Hey, can you come look at this for a second?”

Arya crossed the room from where she’d been set up - cross-legged on the floor, letting Ember twist her hair - and sank onto the couch next to Sansa.

“Look at what?”

Sansa wordlessly gestured to her computer screen, indicating a light-blue, two-story house - complete with a wooden fence, a sprawling front lawn, and a turret by the chimney.

“It’s very you,” Arya asserted.

“It’s very six miles from here,” her sister said with a sly smile.

Arya’s mouth fell open, her eyes still trained on the laptop screen. “Does she know?” she whispered, pointing to her niece, who had busied herself with brushing Nymeria’s tail.

“It was her idea,” Sansa smiled. “She told me she wanted us to be closer to Aunt Arya.”

“You’re lying,” Arya said dismissively, trying to hide the grin threatening to take over her face.

“I’m not, and I’m offended that you would think so,” Sansa replied in feigned injury. “I tried telling her that you’re _incredibly_ weird and annoying, but she wouldn’t budge.”

The corners of her mouth twitched. “Well. Tell her I’m really looking forward to it.”

Sansa smirked and kept her head down. “I’ll let her know.”

* * *

Wednesday night was the first game in the championship series, and her father was serious when he said they would pull out all the stops. Arya drove straight to The First Keep after work - where Ned had reserved an entire room for him, her, and Jon - and rolled her eyes fondly when she realized that both had already consumed several beers each.

“What would your associates think about _this_, huh?” she asked sarcastically when Ned passed her a drink.

“I’m all about that work-life balance, little wolf,” he said, a bit too loud.

“Speaking of associates,” added Jon. “Dad, did you tell Arya who’s coming ‘round for dinner on Friday night?”

The men shared a meaningful look - one that went right over Arya’s head, as she was settling into her seat in front of the television.

“I hired Uncle Robert’s son,” Ned told her.

Arya made a face - of both bewilderment and disgust. “First of all, I know his name. I’ve met Joffrey a million times.” She kicked her feet up and sipped her drink. “And second of all, why the fuck would you hire _him_?”

“Not Joffrey,” Jon said, his tone only adding to her confusion.

“He’s got an older boy,” Ned explained. “Didn’t find out about him until after he was dead.”

“Gross.”

“That’s why I wanted to make sure you were free for dinner. I really think you two might-“

“That’s great, dad,” Arya cut him off - polite, but firm. “I’m sure he’s a delight, but I’m not really interested at the moment. Can we just watch the game?”

She didn’t miss her father’s expression of surrender, but she did miss Jon stifling a laugh in his glass.

* * *

It rained on Thursday - the kind that heightened the smells of everything on the landscape. If it were just fifteen degrees cooler, it would be snow, and Arya longingly wished that it were - too much had happened to her recently in the rain.

The light drizzle turned into a full-blown storm by the time she returned home that night, and there were only so many distractions she could seek - a run on the treadmill, a loud movie in the living room, a long shower - before it was time for her to retire to bed.

Arya curled onto her side, buried herself as far beneath the covers as she could, and stared at her phone. The thunder rumbled the earth below, and the wind all but howled at her window. She managed one quivery breath and pressed play.

By second three, her stomach was in knots. By second sixteen, she could barely swallow around the lump in her throat. And by second forty-four, her pillow was as drenched as the ground outside.

* * *

Her mother’s insistence that she look presentable for dinner the following evening fell on mostly deaf ears - she’d been too busy playing Gendry’s voicemail on a repetitive loop, deciding whether or not she would call. She was seesawing between whether to slip out after the second course and try catching him when the shop closed, or whether to start attempting to move on for good. One option made her palms impossibly sweaty, but the other had her nearly sick with grief, so she was really at a crossroads.

“Arya!” came her father’s voice from the floor below. She adjusted the strap of her jumpsuit and peeked her head out her bedroom door.

“I’ll be down in a second!”

Morbidly, she joked to herself that her outfit would actually be a fine one in which to be buried, so she grabbed her phone off of her dresser and settled on option one.

Her father was leaning on the railing, as she descended the staircase. He handed her a tray of appetizers - fancy ones - and she suppressed a snort.

“Great,” he announced. “He’ll be here any minute, and I need your help setting the side table.”

“Yes, sir,” she said, taking the platter with a playful eye roll.

* * *

Dogs barking and soft instrumental music playing drowned out the sound of their guest’s arrival. Under different circumstances, Arya would have gone out to greet him, but she was particularly fixated on organizing the vegetable spread in color order, so she supposed she’d get around to meeting him eventually.

“You can head into the dining room and hand that over to Arya, lad,” she heard her father say. “I’ll have Robb go and fetch you a drink.”

She didn’t make out the reply, but she heard the solid, distinct approach of footsteps. She knew how rude she must have seemed - her back to the doorway, hunched over the table - but, really, she was almost done. He could wait.

The footsteps gave way to a creak in the floor, and she knew she was no longer alone.

“Sorry, sorry,” she said quickly, back still to the doorway. “You can bring whatever you have over here. I don’t wanna shake your hand when mine’s covered in cucumber juice.”

The guest cleared his throat, and Arya felt goosebumps erupt across her shoulders. She stopped and stood up straight - her hands still hovering over the glass platter.

“Okay,” he said, his shoes squeaking as he continued to walk toward her. “Here.”

Had she actually been carrying the glass plate, it would have shattered. She looked up fully then, just in time to see Gendry - setting down a tray of fresh fruit.

The pair stood in silence, facing each other - not unlike they had in the past - and Arya’s head was pounding with adrenaline. Gendry, on the other hand, looked as if he had an entire speech prepared. When he opened his mouth, though, the confidence disintegrated - leaving him only able to stutter something that was, really, quite obvious.

“Last time you saw me, you wanted me to come to Winterfell,” he said shakily, his hand flying up to rub the back of his neck. Dimly, she registered the need to dial down her intense stare, but she could hardly be blamed - if she blinked, he’d certainly be gone.

Gendry’s eyes had darted from her, to the floor, to the egress window behind the appetizer spread, and back to the floor - but at the absence of a response, he returned his attention to her. Finally acknowledging how taken aback she was, he smirked - _smirked._ She could have screamed.

His hand fell down from his neck and landed in his coat pocket. His smirk grew minutely.

“Took the long road, but…” he shrugged.

* * *

_“No, I’m positive that I’m not,” Arya said - shouted rather, as the reception of the FaceTime kept cutting in and out._

_“How did you realize?” Jon asked through the static._

_Arya grumbled. “I don’t know,” she said, fiddling with the tear in her sweatshirt sleeve. “Don’t you just hear all of that shit about ‘when you know, you know’? Well, I don’t know.”_

_“You’re a real wordsmith.”_

_“I’m serious, Jon,” she groaned. “This is fucking stupid, anyway. Being in love sounds exhausting.”_

_“I wouldn’t know.”_

_“Just seems like more trouble than it’s worth, you know?”_

_“Again, I think we’ve established that I don’t.”_

_“Well, I’m going on the record right now,” she asserted. “Screw love. I’m not interested.”_

_Jon laughed, the crinkles in the corners of his eyes still visible, despite the pixilation - Arya missed him like mad. _

_“That’s exactly what the main character in the rom-com always says, right before they fall in love.”_

_“Can’t fall in love if I stay away from everyone.”_

_He shook his head, the movement stalling a bit over the poor connection._

_“Somehow, I feel like it’s not that simple.”_

* * *

She waited for her heartbeat to return to her chest, from where it had spread - into her throat, down in her stomach, behind her ears. When she swallowed, her mouth was impossibly dry.

“Uncle Robert’s son,” was the first thing that - very, very stupidly - came out of her mouth. Gendry quirked an eyebrow, but his smirk remained.

“At your service.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she blurted out - immediately wishing she hadn’t. She needed to slow down, take a breath. Her mind was racing.

“Could ask you the same question, Stark,” he argued jokingly. He’d had time to prepare for this. It was incredibly unfair, in Arya’s opinion.

She was fairly confident in the answer, but she had to be sure. “Did you know the whole time?”

To her relief, he shook his head. “Gods, no. I saw you…I saw everything on the news, and I nearly lost my mind. I thought…” he sighed, a sheepish smile playing on his lips. “I thought your last name was Snow.”

“You _what_?”

“I heard you one morning, like a week in, and you were trying to get ahold of your brother. You asked for Lieutenant Snow.”

“Oh, my _gods_,” she groaned, putting her face in her hands.

“We had the whole joke!” he exclaimed. “About Snow White!”

“I thought it was because I _look_ like Snow White, dumbass!”

“You _do _look like- Don’t call me a dumbass!”

Arya closed her eyes - inhaled pronouncedly through her nose, exhaled loudly through her mouth. When she opened her eyes, Gendry was doing the same.

“Let’s try again,” she offered - steadied further by his silent nod of agreement. “My father is the one who offered you the job.” Evidently, she wasn’t the only one capable of stating the obvious.

“He’s very kind,” Gendry said. “I gave him quite the runaround. Surprised he gave me a second chance.”

“Why’d you want a second chance?” she asked, her heartbeat already beginning to spread like wildfire again.

He cleared his throat again. “That’s a stupid question.”

A sudden surge of courage caused her to move slightly to her left, back right up to the dining room table, and hoist herself onto it. Her mother and father hated when she did that, but - honestly? They knew about this all week and said nothing. She was sitting on the fucking table.

“I listened to your message yesterday,” Arya said.

“Only yesterday?” Gendry asked, moving to lean on the wall across from her. He folded his arms - the stubborn posture standing out against the mature suit he wore. She had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling.

“Listen, this really fucked me up, alright?” she snapped, waving her hand between them. “I know it wasn’t fair to ask you to come with me, but I really…I really didn’t think it would end that way.”

“Do you understand now?” he asked, uncrossing his arms. “Why I couldn’t…” he trailed off, scanning the room and tossing his hand in the air. “Why this freaked me out?”

“I do,” she said - and, really, she did. “Do _you_ understand now, why you’re good enough?”

“I’m working on it,” he said earnestly.

They stared at each other for a few moments - like a bit of the fog had cleared. She’d avoided looking too closely into his eyes, up to that point - she didn’t need to be sidetracked from what she had left to say.

“You told me once that I terrified you,” she started, eyes fixed on the skin at his collar - as if that would be any less distracting. “But you terrify me, too. I don’t…I think I’ll always be scared that I’m bumming you out.”

“Bumming me out?” he echoed, like he’d never heard the phrase before.

“Yes,” she said defensively. “I’m not…it’s not magically gonna just…_be alright._ Just because I’m with someone.”

“I didn’t think it worked that way, anyway,” he agreed.

Arya huffed, because of course - of course, he was being understanding. She was giving him an out, and the longer he took in rejecting it, the more she felt like she was going to burst at the seams.

“I just want to make sure you know what you’re getting into.” Because she didn’t have that chance before - she left that bit out.

“I’m working on my stuff,” Gendry repeated. “You’re working on your stuff.” He shrugged. “Everyone’s working on their own stuff. But I’m not the only one that’s good enough, captain.”

Whether it was a force of habit or an intentional term of endearment, the ease with which he’d slipped it in made Arya’s temperature spike. She realized then that they had yet to be interrupted by a single member of her family, and she gulped.

“You’re in Winterfell,” she said - another obvious fact.

The smirk - that truly shameful smirk - returned to his face. “I am.”

“And…I’m in Winterfell.”

It grew wider. “You are.”

“How’d we manage that?” she asked, instinctively leaning back onto her palms, as he pushed off of the wall to move toward her.

“There were a few speed bumps.”

He stopped in front of her - her knees level with his lower abdomen, his hands hanging limply at his sides. Her thighs burned already without his touch, and she feared they would burst into flames when he slowly parted them to step closer.

“Would you do anything differently?” Arya asked.

“Probably would’ve called a different repair shop,” he quipped.

She closed her eyes, breathed out through her nose. “Too soon.”

“Is it too soon for me to kiss you again?”

Her arms nearly gave out, as she slowly sat up straight and opened her eyes, finally giving into his. She’d been right to avoid them before - all dumb and blue and beautiful.

“That’s a stupid question,” she managed.

“I beg to differ.”

“Why would it be too soon for that?”

“Okay,” he said tentatively, his voice low, “but I’m holding on.” He moved his hands from her thighs to her hips, tightening his grip briefly for emphasis. “I want you to be here when I open my eyes.”

“Oh, my gods, dra_matic_,” she teased, allowing herself to smile faintly, as she tilted her chin up.

Gendry shook his head in mock censure, leaning down to meet her halfway. “Rule breaker,” he whispered, catching her lips just as they twitched upward.

It was less of a kiss, in truth - they were both smiling into each movement, intoxicated on each other’s breath. Arya’s head stopped spinning long enough for her to realize she hadn’t even touched him yet, so she rectified that immediately - clutching the lapels of Gendry’s coat to drag him impossibly closer, trailing her fingers up his jawline, delighting in the way he shivered.

“Arya,” he muttered - for the first time since he’d gotten there, she realized. He seemed to realize it, too, because he let out a breathy laugh.

“Gendry,” she said softly, one of her hands wandering into his hair.

“Arya, I lo-“

“No!” she asserted, back to her normal volume. His hands stayed in place on her hips, but he pulled back, clearly caught off guard.

“That’s the third time I’ve been cut off from saying that,” he said bluntly, “and I…really, _really_ wanna say it. So…you can imagine the stress I’m under.”

“I wanna say it first,” Arya said, with as much assurance as she could muster. The grin that overtook Gendry’s face - full of pleasant surprise and adoration and now unmistakable love - made her pause.

“Well, now I’m nervous,” she grumbled. “Stop looking at me like that.”

“Alright,” he nodded, moving his hands from her hips. “I’ll cover my eyes.”

She rolled her eyes at his playfulness, catching his hands before they could reach his face. She guided them firmly back to her hips and locked his eyes with hers - daring him to try moving away from her again.

“I love you.” Her hands still holding his in place, she smiled at his expression of near worship. “Idiot,” she added.

The space between them was closing again, and she prepared herself for his reciprocation, because the fog - the fog had been fully cleared. But Gendry’s lips brushed past hers, across her cheek, right to her ear.

“Say it again,” he whispered.

She grabbed him then - tugged him by the hair to make him kiss her properly, muttering the same proclamation over and over and over again, with each break for air. She heard him say it - _finally_ say it - but she was too far gone to stop and acknowledge it.

Because when you know, you know, and she knew. And - not for the first time - she wished she could sit down with her old self. Have a long, serious talk with her and warn her about what exactly she was about to get into. Tell her to play the long game and strap in - that, yes, it would definitely _not_ be that simple.

But that, no, the payoff would be more than worth the trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> vibe check. how we feelin
> 
> (thank you for the consistent love and support on this story. this chapter is deeply personal and i'm very nervous but i hope you enjoyed. one chapter left! mental health recovery is not linear! goodnight 😚)


	11. epilogue: winterfell to the wall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> featuring - labels and routines and new ground

Ember did eventually charge into the dining room, toward both of them - effectively popping the bubble surrounding their moment. Neither Arya nor Gendry could find it in them to care, though - bubbles were overrated, anyway. He procured her good luck charm from his coat pocket, and Ember’s wild little eyes lit up instantly, and Arya decided that if every person loved as easily as her niece did, then the world might not be all that bad.

She’d apparently missed Gendry’s awkward hug with Sansa. They’d converged in the foyer, before he’d made his way to the appetizer table. Her sister did still shoot her that knowing smirk, though, when they all sat down to eat - one that Arya happily reciprocated. A silent confirmation that Sansa’s suspicions _were_ correct from the beginning, and a silent promise to tell her absolutely everything later.

Her brothers did adore him. Robb fetched him that drink, prompting an earnest discussion of the region’s best malt whiskeys. He mentioned to Bran that he enjoyed that audiobook, resulting in a soft nod of approval in her direction when Gendry looked down to fiddle with his napkin.

Rickon was…obsessed with him. He talked his ear off about football and bluntly announced that he was glad that Gendry wasn’t anything like his distant half-siblings. Arya could tell a few others at the table were quietly thinking the same, judging by the succeeding laughter.

It was not her father, but Jon, who observed him cautiously - eyes not quite narrowed, but haunches still raised protectively. A wolf guarding his pack and all of that. But in _this_ pack, they trusted instincts - so defenses were quickly lowered, and soon the sound of their identical belly laughs filled the air around her. Just as beautiful as Arya had expected.

Her mother talked to him probably the most out of everyone - asked him about his life and his dreams and their travels - and that made Arya happier than the fact that he was there with her in the first place.

* * *

“You called on _Friday_?!” Arya practically squawked at Gendry. “Dad. That was the day _I_ called you. That was the day I came home.”

“Was it?” Ned asked, unaffected. His mouth twitched, and he reached over Rickon for the green beans. The _audacity_ for this to have been kept a secret from her for a full week, when she was in so much pain, so much -

(She wasn’t upset, even if she had some nebulous, unfounded right to be - not really. It was pretty difficult to feel anything but delirious with Gendry’s palm resting on top of her thigh, while she took measured sips of wine.)

“You didn’t think to mention…I don’t know,” she said, no longer bothering to aim for annoyance. “Any of this?”

From her right, Gendry - _Gendry_, she thought with a smile - cleared his throat.

“I, uh,” he started, amused. “I asked him not to.”

She shifted to face him at that - propped her chin in her left hand and tilted her head. His eyes darted briefly to her clavicle, and she nearly lost her train of thought. It wouldn’t have been the first - or second, or third, or fourth - time in the past twenty minutes.

“Why?” she asked. Like she really didn’t know. Like she’d completely forgotten that -

“You didn’t answer my message,” he reminded her gently. “I thought you-“ He cleared his throat again, his gaze flickering around the table. She caught Sansa’s eye from over Gendry’s shoulder, and her raised eyebrows made Arya painfully aware of their audience.

“I was afraid you wouldn’t want to come home,” he said quietly. “If you knew I’d be here.”

Arya swallowed. The side of her that reveled in the hypothetical, the side that couldn’t just leave well enough alone - it reared its ugly head.

“Someone was fairly confident, then,” she teased. “That I wouldn’t turn you away.”

“Hardly,” he laughed softly, squeezing her thigh. “That was a chance I was willing to take, though.”

“And what if I had?” she challenged.

He laughed again, shaking his head at her persistence. “Hadn’t really thought that far,” he admitted. “Good job I’ll never have to, isn’t it?”

“Great job,” she amended. They’d leaned close enough that she was able to place a kiss on the tip of his nose with ease - a gesture that roused the rest of the table to varying degrees.

“Gods, above,” Robb groaned to Talisa, loud enough for everyone’s benefit. “Are _we_ this unbearable?”

* * *

She was floored by her mother’s restraint - if she had a wager, Arya would have placed money on some time between the soup and the salad. By the time the palate cleanser rolled around, though, Catelyn had made no move to corner her, to get her alone.

There was typically nothing that Catelyn Stark loved more than providing an unsolicited opinion - this day was really turning out to be something else.

She saw her window when Bran asked Ned to wheel him to the bathroom, and Ember began to fuss about wanting dessert. Catelyn excused herself to check on the crème brûlées, and Arya slipped away from the table to follow her.

“Oh,” Catelyn said in pleasant surprise when she noticed her daughter behind her. “Hello, dear. Will you give Sara a hand with those trays?” she asked, gesturing toward a younger member of the kitchen staff with a kind smile.

“What are you doing?” Arya asked, ignoring the request.

Catelyn stopped for a split second, before returning her attention to the counter in front of her.

“I imagine the girls in here are a bit overwhelmed with the scale of the dinner, and since we’re a bit understaffed tonight, I just thought-“

“No, no,” Arya dismissed. “What are you…I mean, you haven’t-“ she huffed. “What do you think?”

“What do I think of what, Arya?” Catelyn asked, seeming fully aware of the answer.

“Of…Gendry,” she said quietly. She imagined she’d never _not_ feel lightheaded when she said his name.

“Ah,” Catelyn said in understanding, and Arya realized - this was her mother’s plan all along.

Oh, she was good. She was really, really good.

“I know you have an opinion,” Arya said. “Or twelve.”

Catelyn smiled, abandoning the ramekins that she had no intention of actually organizing - the shrew. She turned to face her daughter, examining her lovingly.

“I told myself I wouldn’t give my opinion unless you asked for it,” she said. “But…you’re asking for it.”

“Yes,” Arya asserted.

She wasn’t sure how to classify the look in her mother’s eyes. Like she’d quietly hoped for the moment when her daughter - the daughter she was so afraid of, for so long - would actually seek her approval, after years of shunning it. Like she couldn’t quite believe how far they’d come, and she wanted to be careful not to spoil such a hard-earned moment.

“He reminds me of your dad,” Catelyn said with a fond smile. “It’s certainly not everything, but…it can be so nice. Just to have someone, when your mind feels so cloudy.” She reached out to fix the clasp on Arya’s necklace, that had drifted down toward the weirwood charm. “I don’t know what I would do…where I would be, without your father.”

“You’ve helped dad a lot, too,” Arya offered. “I’ve seen it.”

“I have,” Catelyn agreed. “So, you see my point, then.”

“I’m excited,” Arya blurted out, a bit oddly. “I’m…I mean. I never knew. That it could feel like this.”

“It’s wonderful, isn’t it?”

“It’s really scary,” Arya added. “But it’s…meant to be scary, right?”

“Definitely,” Catelyn smiled. She pulled Arya into a hug - she’d been doing that a lot lately. “I’m proud of you.” She’d been telling her that a lot lately, too.

Arya let out a breath of relief over her mother’s shoulder, shaking her head once again at the turn of events. For some reason, her mind wandered to the absolute _rager_ that Uncle Robert must have been throwing from beyond the grave at all of this. She always thought he was sort of slimy - kind and a bit funny, sure, but mostly gross. He was definitely good for something, though. She’d have to remember to send up a thanks or two when she next got the chance.

“Thank you,” Arya said, although she probably had no need to. “I’m glad you like him.”

Her mother kissed her on the cheek. “Go on and head back out there before Rickon completely steals him away.”

* * *

Hallie and Sara were the same ages as Sansa and Arya respectively, and they’d been working in the kitchens - for Catelyn - for a handful of years.

Arya was the first to admit that, try as she might, she always seemed to invite disaster when she stepped anywhere near the stove, so she’d never really spent a ton of time with either of them. She always thought, distantly, that they’d get along quite well, though.

So, when she ran into them on her way back to the table, and they practically pounced on her - mouths agape, squealing about how dreamy Gendry was and how _oh my gods we have to go for a coffee this weekend so you can tell us everything_ \- she considered her instincts heartily confirmed.

* * *

Arya could almost laugh at the fact that she ever thought to call anything about their relationship delicate.

Delicate suggested precious and worthy of protection and soft, and it certainly was all of those things - and more. It also suggested fragile and easily shattered and weak, and - no. Definitely not.

There was a time - more recently than she cared to remember - when she thought that one misstep, one speed bump meant the end. But something in the way Gendry looked so natural talking to Jon and Sansa - in the way he looked so at home, and then looked impossibly _more_ at home when he noticed her return to the room - almost made her itch for the next one. Knowing, then, that it wouldn’t mean the end.

* * *

“Aunt Arya, is Gendry your boyfriend?”

“Ye- I mean. He’s…well,” Arya stuttered, looking up at Gendry with a cautious smile.

“Yes?” he asked, taking a bite of his dessert and returning her expression.

“Well?” she tried again.

“Well, what?”

“Are you my boyfriend?”

“Do you _want_ me to be your boyfriend?”

“Are we really doing this again?” she laughed.

“I don’t know, I think it’s kind of fun,” he shrugged.

“Made for each other,” Jon mumbled under his breath, from Arya’s other side.

Arya rolled her eyes. “Yes,” she said. “I want you to be my boyfriend.”

“Say boyfriend one more time,” Rickon shouted from the other end of the table - at the same time that Talisa muttered, “Buckle up, buddy,” with a sympathetic shake of her head.

“We should probably stop having these conversations in front of your family,” Gendry said with a laugh, a slight blush spreading across his features.

She grinned, turning her back more firmly away from Jon, who was continuing to grumble needlessly. “Are you, then? My boyfriend?”

“You want a Hufflepuff for a boyfriend?”

“_Gendry._”

“I’ll be your boyfriend, if you’ll be my girlfriend.”

“You’re so fucking stupid,” she whispered. “I love you so much.”

* * *

Her mother was thanking him for the fruit platter, and Ember was blabbering something about making lemon cakes, and Arya froze mid-sentence - right in the middle of her question to Sansa. It suddenly seemed like the least important question she could possibly ask, considering the one she just thought of.

She’d already become so accustomed to having Gendry back, that she’d failed to acknowledge - for even a brief second - that he’d have to leave her that night.

She waited until he was done talking to her mother, and she promptly sidled up next to him - hopefully out of anyone’s earshot, though she couldn’t be bothered to check.

“So,” she started, a bit nervously, “there’s probably no tactful way to ask you this.”

He snorted. “The day you learn tact is the day I learn how to smile properly in a photograph.”

“Where are you staying?” she asked bluntly. A lone eyebrow arched toward his hairline.

“Um,” he chuckled, “I’ve been in a hotel for the past few days, since I got to town.”

“Wait, my dad flew you in,” she said, more for her own reminder than anything else. “How did you get to the house?”

A slow smile crept onto his face. “I, uh…I bought a car. Yesterday.”

Her eyes widened. “Oh. You just…_bought a car_,” she said dramatically. “You. Bought yourself a car.”

“Yes,” he said with an amused sigh. “Purely practical.”

“Oh, of course,” she nodded, furrowing her brow in mock seriousness. “Not at all something you’ll enjoy.”

“No, not at all,” he smiled, shaking his head.

“So, you have a car. That you drove here,” she said. “And you’re driving the car back to your hotel. Tonight.”

“We’re both incredibly good at getting to the point,” he said dryly.

“With the subtlety of a bloody grenade, by the way,” Sansa commented, as she passed them. She pointed at Arya. “Go grab an overnight bag. I’ll distract everyone else.”

* * *

Alright so, in theory, the idea of sneaking out of her parents’ house to spend the night with her boyfriend - despite the fact that she was twenty-five years old, thank you very much - was supposed to be sexy and dangerous. Sansa had done it enough times when they were teenagers, so Arya felt like she had some catching up to do. A rite of passage, so to speak.

In practice, though, it wasn’t really possible - with four brothers and one niece and two parents, who all insisted on walking her boyfriend out to see his new car, since he was the literal guest of honor.

She did wind up inconspicuously tossing her overnight bag into the backseat while Gendry shook her father’s hand near the hood of the car, throwing a pair of middle fingers toward her brothers who were hovering by the front door, and lying to Ember that she was just going with him to make sure he got home safely.

The hotel was only five minutes from the house, and the two laughed the entire way there, at the fact that there they were - on the road together again.

* * *

She had him pinned to the door of the hotel room before either of them could think twice. For all that he’d surprised her in the short time that they’d known each other, Arya found that she _really_ enjoyed catching Gendry off-guard.

“I still can’t believe you’re here,” she panted through open-mouthed kisses. Both of her hands were knotted in his hair, and both of his - gripping her waist - covered almost the entirety of her back. He had enough leverage to pull her flush against him, toss her over his shoulder, take her absolutely anywhere he wanted - and she couldn’t decide which she hoped for most.

He broke from a particularly heated kiss - nuzzled the crook of her neck and laughed gruffly, spinning her, so it was _her_ back pressed firmly against the door. He towered over her then, and she realized that memories of Gendry never quite did justice to how big he was. Or how enticing he smelled - like firewood, still, somehow.

She was out of her mind, she decided, thinking that any figment of her imagination could possibly do justice to the real thing.

Gendry laughed again, reaching for her thigh and wrapping her leg around his waist - as best as he could, given their height difference.

“Why are you laughing?”

“I was…“ he interrupted himself to run his free hand through her hair - almost like he couldn’t help it. “I was gonna say there’s no place I’d rather be, but I wasn’t sure how sappy you wanted to get tonight.”

The implication invigorated her. Based on how shaky their collective four hands were, she figured the buttons on his shirt would take a minute to undo, so she decided to get a head start.

“We can do sappy later,” Arya muttered, standing up straighter, so she could kiss his chest with each undone clasp.

He, surprisingly, allowed her to concentrate - opting to let his hands slowly roam the planes of her lower back, the dip of her waist, while she worked at his shirt. She felt her entire body melting into him on pure instinct, and one rogue pass of his hand along the curve of her backside had her audibly gasping.

Well. She was certainly _trying _to concentrate.

The final button came loose, and she hummed in approval - sliding her hands up his torso to get rid of the shirt completely. He was looking at her with stars in his eyes - she’d never get used to that.

The removal of one garment seemed to ignite something in both of them, and then they were kicking their shoes off. Undoing their own ties and zippers to make it easier for the other to take off their clothes, because, still - in all of their hunger and desperation, and despite how much quicker it would have been the other way - they wordlessly insisted on undressing each other.

Arya couldn’t really pinpoint when their silent contracts had gotten so dirty, but she was more than open to the change.

Gendry pushed the top of Arya’s jumpsuit off of her shoulders, groaning when it pooled around her waist and exposed her breasts. She never wore a bra with those things - too many straps - and she laughed to herself when she realized. This scenario hadn’t exactly been in her plans when she’d put it on, but it was working out quite conveniently, all the same.

His hands came up to cover her chest, thumbing her nipples, as she moved to his waistband.

“Are you clean?” she asked, once his pants were around his ankles. He laughed again.

“Yeah, I’m…yeah,” Gendry stuttered, tugging the rest of her one-piece down her body - leaving both of them in nothing but underwear.

“What’s funny now?” she breathed, a bit dizzy at the sight of him - of _him_, and just how much he wanted her.

“I’m just…It’s been a while for me. That’s all,” he said with a self-deprecating smile, stepping back in to crowd her against the door.

“What about-“ he started to ask her, stopping short, because he saw it - the way her eyes widened at just how little stood between them now. How her breathing had quickened and how her throat bobbed with a determined swallow.

He saw that she’d never done this before.

“Arya.”

“Please don’t ask me if I’m sure,” she said quickly, trailing her hands across his abdomen and avoiding his stare. “I’m also…I’m on the pill, too. Acne. It’s embarrassing,” she stammered.

“Hey,” he said, lifting her chin gently with his finger. “I just wanna make…_sure_,” he assured her, emphasizing the last word with a smile.

“Stupid,” she huffed. “What did I just say?”

His smile widened, as he angled toward her to kiss along her cheek. “I think I’ll always be double-checking when it comes to you,” he said, the vibrations from his voice rumbling down her neck. “Triple-checking,” he added, darting his tongue out to focus on that spot _right_ where her earlobe met her jaw. “You’re pretty hard to believe.”

Arya clutched blindly for the back of his neck, redirecting him toward her mouth. He really was stupid - stupidly good at this, stupid for thinking there would ever be a time when she wasn’t sure about him.

Her legs were wobbling, though, and she could do nothing to stop herself from whimpering - _whimpering_. Maybe kissing a stupid person made her just as stupid. What was that called? The transitive property or something? She hadn’t thought about math in years, and her brain decided that _then_ \- with Gendry’s fingers hooking the elastic of her panties - was the correct moment.

(Mind-numbingly stupid.)

They’d only seen each other in pieces, before - in the shadows of the van late at night, in waist-deep water, in hotel beds a lot like the one behind them. They finally had the whole picture, though, as their final garments came off, and it was all either of them could do not to forgo the bed altogether.

Seeming to realize that they had yet to make it more than a few inches into the room, Gendry reached for Arya’s hand - a shockingly chaste gesture, given their indecency. He walked backward, eyes trained so intently on her form that she was surprised he managed not to bump into anything on their path to the bed.

“Please don’t do that thing,” Arya requested, when they reached their destination. Gendry sank onto the mattress, drawing her in to stand between his thighs.

“What thing?” he asked breathlessly, licking his lips. He really, really looked like he was going to do the thing.

“That thing where the guy sees the girl fully naked for the first time and tells her she’s beautiful, because he doesn’t know what else to say.”

He grinned - reached for her wrist and pulled her closer, moving farther onto the bed and settling her into his lap, when his back reached the headboard. It was new, and _there_, and a lot - all of the contact. She shifted her hips against his. He squeezed her thighs.

“You know, you’re telling me a lot of what _not_ to do,” he pointed out, trailing a hand from her hip to brush against her center. Arya should have been mortified - completely humiliated by how warm and slick he found her, having barely touched her - but he continued to curl a single finger, and she forgot how to feel anything other than enraptured.

“It’s not my fault you’re a bad listener,” she said, her breath hitching when she saw his other hand move to stroke himself. Through the fog, she could at least discern that much - that was her job. One of her hands swiftly left the purchase of his broad shoulders to remind him.

Gendry groaned. “It is actually,” he said. “You make it very hard to concentrate.” He added another finger to his ministrations, picking up the pace - but only by a hair. “Do you know why?”

She had a quip. She really, always did. But he was eye-level with her breasts, and his mouth had latched onto her nipple, and his tongue was moving in time with his fingers, and it was too much. She couldn’t do words.

(Unthinkably stupid.)

“Why?” Arya gasped, trying her best to match his pace, her hand still wrapped around him. She wasn’t entirely sure why she asked, since she already knew what his answer would be, but none of that stopped a shiver from gliding up her spine when, “Because you’re beautiful,” left his lips in a frantic whisper.

His attention to her body - to her pleasure - was ceaseless, and he made a noise of protest when she rose higher on her knees to take him in.

“Arya, Arya,” he pleaded, both steadying her and stopping her with a firm hold on her hips. “I’m not gonna…I won’t last long. Just let me take care of you first,” he said, despite his obviously fleeting patience.

“You think we’re only doing this once tonight?”

“Just-“

“Please don’t make me beg,” she nearly whined, rolling her hips down to rub him against her. The hand that wasn’t gripping him twined through his hair, tugging tightly. “Not for our first time, anyway,” she added boldly.

He moaned from deep in his chest. It turned into a laugh halfway through, as he looked at her under half-lidded eyes.

“There you go again,” he breathed. “Isn’t saying ‘please’ technically considered beg-“

The rest of his comeback was interrupted when Arya nudged him solidly against her, starting to lower herself. She’d need to take her time - she knew that before she’d even started. But once she did, she was grateful that he gave up trying to delay her.

Her eyes were screwed shut, which only heightened the sensation when Gendry sat up to kiss her. He kissed her with a sweetness that belied what exactly they were doing - lightly sucked on her bottom lip and warmed her back with his hands and hummed soothingly against her cheek. It was the kind of care she never thought she deserved - it was why she’d never done this.

They both sighed when he was fully inside of her, and Arya felt herself involuntarily clenching around him, her body trying desperately to catch up to the rest of her - the rest of her that was already so, so comfortable.

“It’s,” Gendry started, through gritted teeth, “it’s harder this way. It’ll be harder, since you’ve never…We can switch, if you-“

She didn’t mean to - she was still trying to adjust. But she circled her hips - just so - and the way his head lolled back, the way he raked his fingers roughly down her sides, the way he exclaimed, “Oh, _shit_,” to her or to himself or to neither of them in particular -

Suddenly, she was comfortable. Very, very comfortable.

Gendry’s soft side was not a secret to Arya - she’d anticipated a fierce tenderness that night, just as she always did. She’d also heard that things people said during sex could come out without deliberation, could sometimes be meaningless in the wake of bliss.

So, when he rested his forehead on her sternum and _said_ things, while she moved on top of him - that she was everything, absolutely everything to him, and that he loved her, and that she was the best thing he’d ever felt, the best thing he’d ever have - she was overcome by how thoroughly she believed him. By how mutual the feeling was.

She opened her eyes when she felt Gendry slump back against the pillows. He couldn’t seem to make up his mind about where his hands would be best served - guiding her by the hips, caressing her every inch, zeroing in on her pleasure points. His eyes made up for his hands’ indecision - they were locked on her, drinking her in.

Someone moaned, and it wasn’t Gendry, so it must have been her, and the sound made him spring into action. Everything - his hands, his eyes, all of his attention - flew to where they were joined.

“I’m…Arya…_yes_,” he grunted, rubbing tight circles on her clit. She could tell he was _right_ there, could tell he wanted desperately for her to follow him over the edge, but she was just as desperate to watch him unravel. She bent forward, freeing his bottom lip from between his teeth to kiss him senseless.

“It’s okay. It’s okay,” she chanted, whispering against his lips when she felt him tense beneath her. The knowledge that her next word would be his undoing made the corners of her mouth curl. “Please,” she said.

He came with a choked yell, his every muscle flexing, as he pulsed hopelessly deeper through his release. Arya was fascinated by it, fascinated by him - the tic in his jaw, the flare of his nostrils, the sharp gasps for breath. She was fascinated by her own body and the way she seemed to know, on pure instinct, how to maximize his pleasure.

Seconds before she could attempt to lean down to kiss him again, let him bask, maybe tell him in a sarcastic tone that he was also beautiful - but sincerely, _so_ wholeheartedly mean it - his forearms were hooked under her knees, and she was being flung onto her back. Her head was pointed toward the foot of the bed, and there was no way he had a comfortable angle, but his head between her thighs intercepted her offer to adjust. 

Just like she should have been embarrassed before, this should have been downright obscene, because he was - he was _everywhere_, drawing himself out of her with his tongue, practically singing against her. The sound of it, the sound of them - it was nearly too much.

Gendry seemed to agree, sliding a hand down from her stomach to swipe two fingers in line with his mouth. She thought she couldn’t possibly grow warmer, until she felt his hot exhale.

Arya clumsily lifted her head and reached down to grab his hand, bringing the fingers to her own mouth. Gendry’s eyes were glazed over, watching her steadily, as she drew them between her lips.

“That’s us,” he rasped, before descending onto her to resume his focus. She closed her eyes and moaned around his fingers, the movements of their tongues synchronized, and he was somehow, still, everywhere and also _exactly_ where she needed him, and she - she -

She threw her head back down, causing Gendry’s hands to slip from her grasp, to rise and fall sharply where it landed on her chest, in time with her breathing. He trailed it briefly back up the column of her throat, before skating it down to her nipple, leaving a wet trail in its path.

His other hand rose to mirror the attention on her other breast, and then it was just his mouth, his tongue, his nose bumping against her, and she only existed in that bed, where he touched her.

Evidently, her hands had found his hair, because she was pulling, and he was sighing, and her legs were shaking on his shoulders, and her orgasm was cresting from the tips of her toes to her fucking scalp, and it was like the feeling itself was melding her to where she lay - sated and floating and exhaustively loved.

Vaguely, she registered soft kisses to the insides of her thighs, before cold air replaced his heated breath. Arya blinked slowly, propping herself up by her elbows to see that Gendry had moved to slide under the white comforter - holding it open for her, arm outstretched, like he’d done so many times before. She could have cried - somewhere, in her head, she _was_ \- but she composed herself long enough to crawl into his inviting embrace.

He watched her with a newfound longing, and she fit so perfectly - more perfectly than she remembered - into his side, and how was it possible that she _already_ wanted to do that again?

* * *

Gendry was stroking the slope of her back during the interlude after their second time. It had been every bit as passionate as the first - less frantic, more tender, still spellbinding. She’d come with him still moving on top of her, inside of her, and the sensation had rolled over her in seemingly endless waves.

Now, her eyes were closed contentedly, and she’d thought he might have been drifting to sleep, but the feeling of him - already half-hard once more against her thigh - suggested otherwise.

She squirmed, and he laughed lightly.

“That tickles,” she complained.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, a smile clear in his voice.

“No, you’re not.”

“No, I’m not,” he chuckled again, pinching her side.

Arya swatted his chest and playfully tweaked his nipple, resulting in a squeal that surprised both of them. The mischievous glint in his eye was such an arrant departure from the expression he wore when they first met, and that realization - even more so than the fact that he was rolling on top of her, pinning her wrists above her head - knocked the wind out of her.

“Your dad offered me the pool house,” Gendry smiled down at her. “While I look for a place.”

Arya’s mouth fell open. “The pool house? _Our_ pool house?”

“Yes, your pool house.”

“The one that’s…only a few yards away from the main house?”

“Are there others?” he asked.

She shook her head, smiling when she noticed - noticed Gendry realize the reason for her excitement. He was looking at her sort of like he was seeing her for the first time, and all Arya could think was how insane it all was - how safe she could feel from just a pair of eyes.

Her hands had wriggled free from his grasp, and she pulled him down by the back of his head - his full weight crushing her, surrounding her. He still braced himself on one forearm, but his face automatically turned to burrow into her neck. Arya buried her face in his hair.

“I like having you close,” she said quietly.

She held him tighter against her for emphasis, driving home the literal meaning of her words, but she knew they both felt the deeper significance when he sighed and nuzzled in further.

* * *

The second half of August was uncharacteristically humid for the North, but the days were long and slow.

Arya typically hated the end of summer. She always joked that she had reverse seasonal affective disorder - she was utterly miserable in the heat, hated direct sunlight, and flourished when nights started to come earlier.

August, in particular, was never anything special. Always the eighth in a series of otherwise decent preceding months, always seeming cobbled together with things that people didn’t have time to do sooner in the summer. Always hurried and tiresome and sort of pointless, in the grand scheme of things.

There was a lot to love about it now, though. The end of a trip and the start of something even better. An anniversary. Healing. So many sunsets, too - the kind Arya could almost feel under her skin, warming even the coldest parts of herself.

They were still hers - always would be, and nothing could take that away from her. But they were also theirs again - and that made the reds and the purples and the golds all the richer.

* * *

Being out of the bubble with Gendry looked a lot like being in the bubble with Gendry. They still kissed a lot and fell asleep watching movies and sometimes became so wrapped up in each other that the world around them could fade from existence, and neither would bat an eye.

It was also different, though - wonderfully different.

They had dinners together most nights after work - sometimes with her family, sometimes just the two of them, but always at an actual table, rather than in the back of a van or on a patch of grass. Their schedules forced them to spend more time apart, so they texted a bunch throughout the day. Arya learned about Gendry’s distaste for memes, so she was diligent about sending him a new one every morning.

They had…a _routine._ Their summer had been so unplanned and unpredictable and hundreds of other ‘un-‘ words that made a real-world routine together feel foreign. Routines had always been somewhat of a comfort for Arya - but in the context of Gendry, she learned that they unnerved her.

* * *

Her fear came up near the end of Gendry’s first week in Winterfell.

“Hi,” she smiled softly up at him when he answered the door to the pool house. He’d lost a bet they’d made earlier that day, so she was pleased to smell her prize - frozen pizza - warming in the oven.

“Hi,” he greeted her, snaking an arm around her waist and kissing her sweetly. “How was your day?”

Arya sighed as she followed him inside, dropping her bag by the door and kicking off her shoes. She’d come straight from work, hadn’t even stopped by the main house yet, because -

“My day was long as hell,” she answered, sort of monotonously.

“Do you need to turn off for a little while?” came Gendry’s voice from around the corner, in the pool house’s small kitchen, where she heard him rummaging in the fridge.

He reappeared with two drinks and handed her one - an action she’d seen every day since his return to her life - and that was what tipped the scale. 

“You’ll tell me if you get bored, right?” she asked bluntly. She accepted one of the drinks from Gendry, who had stopped to furrow his brow.

“What?” he asked, genuinely confused. “How could I possibly get bored of you?”

“Not of me,” Arya said quickly. “Of like…” Well, it sounded silly now that she was saying it out loud - but he was still studying her, asking her silently and gently to finish her thought, so she continued.

“Of life, I guess.”

Gendry snorted and sat on the arm of the couch in front of her. “Life is boring sometimes.”

His cheeky smile slowly disappeared when she gave no response. She was close enough for him to touch, and he did just that - putting their drinks on the coffee table, reaching for her hand to pull her in, so she could stand between his legs.

“What is this about?” She still kept quiet. He lifted her hand to kiss her knuckles.

“Look,” he said, “how about this - I’ll let you know if I ever get bored, and you let me know if you ever get bored.” The proposition seemed simple enough, so she shrugged, but it did little to quell her anxiety.

“Can I tell you a secret?” Gendry continued. Arya nodded. “I loved this summer…_so_ bloody much. Don’t get me wrong. But…boring shit is my favorite,” he said, his smile returning.

“What,” she muttered - less of a question, and more of an amused sigh.

“Making the bed,” he listed. “Folding that blanket you keep leaving crumpled on the couch? Sign me up.”

“_Cleaning_, Gendry,” she corrected half-heartedly. “You just like cleaning.”

“Just saying. You ever wanna sit next to each other and organize our planners, or like…run to the post office,” he offered. “I’m down.”

Her hand was still encased in his, so when he moved to toss his arms up playfully, hers jerked up, too. She shook her head and laughed - stepping in further to hug around his neck and lean against his inner thigh.

“Will you just promise?” she asked sincerely, touching his forehead with hers. “To let me know?”

“I promise,” he said. She kissed him purposefully then, because it hadn’t made her shiver - the word ‘promise.’ Instead, it had made her heart swell.

Arya broke away first and smiled - a real, assured smile - when she noticed the slight blush on Gendry’s cheeks.

“I think we did it,” she said, as his eyes opened slowly.

“Did what?”

“I think we just made our new plan.”

* * *

If the second half of August had a winner - taking Arya and Gendry out of the equation, of course - it would arguably be therapy.

Arya’s sessions at work were going well - slow-moving, since it had only been a few weeks, but developing nicely. If anything, they were just able to serve as little reminders of why she chose the path she did - it was everything, just to know that she _was_ someone, for even one kid. Someone that she’d never had, and someone who would still be there, even if the kid didn’t really feel like talking that day.

She left the office every night feeling drained - mostly in the best possible way.

Gendry mentioned offhandedly over dinner one night that he’d been weighing the idea of finding a therapist again, once the dust settled from the move and the job and the general life upheaval. Arya was reluctant to put on her work hat when it came to their relationship, so she didn’t push the topic, but she went to bed that night with a smile on her face.

(A slightly wider one than she’d recently grown used to, anyway.)

She herself had Skyped with Dr. Forel twice more since Gendry’s return, and she was going through that weird thing - that feeling where everything was going well, better than it had been in a long time, and she thought that maybe she didn’t need therapy anymore.

Therapy was like anything else when it came to depression, though - like medication or goal-setting or exercise. Feeling good meant that it was making a difference, and the last thing she needed to do was stop.

(The road wouldn’t always be bumpy, but it would always be long, and that didn’t necessarily have to be the worst thing.)

On the last Thursday of the month, Catelyn went to her first appointment. It was fairly uneventful, like most first appointments tended to be - just the establishment of rapport and the working-out of insurance information, really. Arya was in her room, organizing her closet when her mother got home, and she didn’t seem like she wanted to talk about it when Arya asked.

Catelyn did nod, though, when Arya offered to stick around a bit later to watch a movie with her - a quiet hope radiating from her accompanying smile.

* * *

“It’s one weekend, Gendry.”

He grumbled to himself while she settled in the driver’s seat of her car, rolling down the window, so they could continue their goodbyes.

The staff retreat in Deepwood Motte had snuck up on her, if she was being honest. She wasn’t _not_ looking forward to it - it would be a great chance to clear her head before things ramped up in the coming fall.

But she could also hardly blame Gendry for whining.

“You’re very cute when you pout,” she told him, leaning her head against the frame of the open window.

“Cute enough to make you not have to leave?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Well,” he sighed, “your brother will be pleased. Now I won’t have any reason not to play football with him.”

Arya laughed, knowing his eye roll was only in jest. “Don’t sound so excited.”

“I’ve been quite spoiled these past two weeks, you know,” he pointed out. “I don’t think it’s unreasonable that I wouldn’t wanna hang out with people that aren’t you. People that aren’t you are lame as hell.”

He was leaning his forearm against the top of the car, bending his neck down to hover eye-level before her, and she swiftly closed the distance between them. Kissing Gendry was the fucking best. Doing things that were _not_ kissing Gendry - _that_ was lame as hell.

She pulled away with a sly smirk.

“I’m bringing my laptop with me,” she said. “My personal one, I mean.” His brow scrunched in confusion - almost adorably enough for her to drop the seductive tone she was aiming for.

“It’s got a webcam,” she explained. “Who says the spoiling has to stop just because I’m away?”

* * *

If the excited heat emanating from his cheeks hadn’t been enough to make her _almost_ consider staying behind, then the love letter she found in her backpack five hours later - when she got to her room at the retreat center - reminded her that she definitely still had farther to fall.

* * *

The beginning of September brought the slight - but foreboding - cold _and_ a Giants’ championship win, so Arya was, in short, thriving.

She watched the game with her father and with Jon and with Gendry, and the convergence of her three favorite people, watching her favorite sport in her favorite city at the start of her favorite time of year - stick a bloody fork in her. She drank them all under the table out of sheer excitement.

Gendry was - understandably so, Arya guessed - hesitant to drink excessively in front of Ned, so he was content to sit back and take care of Arya while she ran herself ragged. They were back in the private room at The First Keep, and the last time she’d been drunk, things were bad, but now things were alright - they were so, so alright.

(Much like she and whiskey, she and champagne were no longer on speaking terms - after the events of wedding. From now on, all Arya needed was beer. Beer and baseball and her family and Gendry - who was also debatably her family, and whose arms still looked fit as fuck in a rolled-up jersey.)

* * *

“Hey, man. I’m way late on saying this, considering all that’s happened since then,” Jon started, slightly knocking Gendry’s shoulder, “but thanks for saving my little sister. The night you two met.”

Gendry’s eyes widened, darting nervously down to where Arya sat - pressed comfortably into his side. She met his stare lovingly.

“Oh, no, I didn’t-“

“You did,” she smiled, twisting her head to kiss the first part of him she could reach - his bicep, she learned with satisfaction.

The moment was broken by the most impressive circus catch that any of them had ever seen, and all four spectators leapt to their feet in celebration. It was only the top of the fourth, but the win seemed like such a sure thing already. Arya steadied her breathing in the wake of their outburst - reaching for another swig of her drink and looking up to see Gendry beaming down at her.

She raised an eyebrow at him, as he placed a hand on the small of her back and lowered his mouth to her ear.

“You know you saved me, too, right?” he asked softly.

She hadn’t known - but she’d certainly never forget.

* * *

The apartment Arya found, toward the end of September, was perfect. It had everything she was looking for - which, truthfully, was not a lot. It sat comfortably within the ten miles between her parents’ house and her office, and it was right across the street from her favorite grocery store, and it had no dog breed restrictions.

She’d need to sign the lease _right_ then, though, and she wasn’t ready for that yet. She didn’t even have furniture - or…a coffee-maker. What kind of self-respecting adult moved into a new apartment without a coffee-maker? She didn’t want to be irresponsible about this.

She found another unit in a different building that was fairly decent, and the property was more than willing to allot her some time before she committed.

But the lighting was weird in the living room where she would want to put a couch, eventually, so - no. She couldn’t possibly.

* * *

October…sort of sucked.

They’d been serious, at work, when they’d warned Arya about how busy it would get once fall rolled around. Between kids being back at school, and the holidays already fast approaching, her caseload had nearly doubled. She had yet to experience any real regret, and she was grateful for a solid support system - both at home and in the office - but she already felt like she needed a vacation.

(She might not have had her own coffee-maker, but saying that she ‘needed a vacation’ made her feel like more of an adult than she had in a long while.)

Gendry was swamped, too. He’d essentially been tossed headfirst into working for Ned, who - bless his heart - wanted to make sure Gendry was ‘getting the most out of the opportunity.’ The plus side was that he basically got to create his own statement of work - one that included part-time design proposal creation and part-time construction.

The downside was that he came home every night bone-tired - barely able to see straight, let alone make conversation.

More than one night found the both of them on opposite ends of the pool house couch - silently scrolling on their phones, watching mindless television, closing their eyes to just focus on breathing. One would get up to shower, the other would leave for a bit to take a walk, neither capable of mustering the energy for more than a tired smile.

Every night, though - regardless of the events preceding - found Gendry’s arm fastened around Arya’s waist, her nose just brushing his collarbone, their legs delicately intertwined underneath the comforter.

The whole month was one giant speed bump, in retrospect, and it made her second-guess herself more often than she’d care to admit. Her tendency to fold into herself after a long day, her anxieties about being no fun and dull and a shitty partner - the hard days made all of that bubble to the surface. She couldn’t fathom how she could be someone that _anyone_ would want to keep -

He felt the same, though. Every tired smile they did share reminded her that he felt the same. That he had his own insecurities - not good enough, undeserving, too jaded.

So even on the quiet nights, the whispered ‘I love yous’ and ‘it’s my turn to make breakfast tomorrows’ and ’just breathes’ - they anchored them. Tugged on their seatbelts to make sure they were both strapped in, so they could make it back to smooth ground - unharmed.

* * *

“We can’t.”

“We can.”

“Fine, _you_ can. _I_ can’t.”

“What do I have that you don’t?”

“Let’s see,” Gendry said curtly, lifting his elbow to prop up on the arm of the chair, so he could count off on his fingers. “Experience. Clout. An _extremely_ believable fake laugh that-“

“Hey!”

“-_that_,” he repeated, “I know you’ve never used on me, but, you have to admit, has gotten you through tons of these stupid events in the past.”

“I already told you,” Arya sighed, moving to sit next to him, “Jon and I avoided these things like the plague growing up. I haven’t been to one in years.”

“Well, I haven’t been to one ever. So.”

She placed a gentle hand on his forearm where it rested against his thigh. He briefly tensed under her touch but relaxed just as quickly. 

“I think you’re looking at it all wrong,” she said carefully. “You’re just looking at it as a boring night with stuffy donors and a bunch of other people that think they’re important-”

Gendry deadpanned.

“-which it _is_. But you’re missing the fact that there’s gonna be free food. Free drinks.” He huffed - not unlike Ember during a ‘one more episode of television’ negotiation. “Me in a dress.”

“That’s not gonna work,” he mumbled, despite the faint flush on his cheeks.

“You also work for Ned Stark,” she said encouragingly. “You were _personally hired_ by Ned Stark. I’m not one to throw my own name around-“

“I’m well aware of that, thanks.”

She rolled her eyes. “-but that’s a pretty big deal. And, yes. He _may_ have sought you out because of your father at first, but my dad doesn’t keep people that aren’t good. Even if they’re family.” Gendry’s face softened at that notion. “He got my cousin Robin an internship once, and the poor kid didn’t even last the summer.”

Gendry bent down to rest his elbows on his knees, to rub the heels of his palms into his eye sockets. “It’s just…a lot.”

“I know,” Arya agreed. She lifted a hand to rub soothing circles on his back. “But you’re only twenty-nine, and you’re already leaps and fucking bounds beyond people that have been doing this for decades. This is just a chance to celebrate that.”

His face was still in his hands, and he let out a distressed groan. “This month just needs to end already. Put me out of my bloody misery.”

“Well,” she started with a smirk, “Mercury retrograde is over in a few days, I think. So, things should be back to normal soon.”

She finished matter-of-factly and waited for him to turn his head. He did so slowly, locking her eyes without a word. They blinked at each other.

Arya smiled innocently. Gendry’s eyes narrowed.

“Go ahead,” she prompted.

“The planets have nothing to do with human behavior, Arya.”

“Yes, they_ do_!”

“Astrology was _created_ by humans, it’s literally-“

“There’s a difference between horoscopes and _astrology_, Gendry-“

“Have you ever fucking heard of confirmation bias, because-“

“I fully bet, if you just _let_ me pull your birth chart, you would be converted in a-“

“I’ll go,” he conceded, throwing his hands up in defeat. “I’ll go with you.”

Arya couldn’t help the triumphant grin that nearly split her face in two, as she threw her arms around his neck and propelled herself onto his lap. She kissed him soundly on the cheek - keeping her nose pressed against him, feeling him loosen underneath her.

“I’m so proud of you. You’re so talented,” she whispered. “You deserve every single good thing you have.”

His own arms finally came up to encircle her, pulling her closer. He pressed a soft kiss to her shoulder.

“You’ll wear a dress?” he asked quietly.

“Mhm.”

“I…like you in a dress.”

“I know, stupid,” she laughed, running her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. “We can get you a tie to match. It’ll be like prom.”

Gendry made a noise of interest - indicating that he hadn’t considered the possibility. “I never went to prom.”

She pulled back from his cheek to smile at him curiously. “Me neither.”

* * *

Scratch that.

October was challenging and exhausting and borderline incessant, but Dr. Forel shook his head at Arya when she told him it sucked. Whole months didn’t suck, he’d said. Apparently, attributing negativity to an entire chunk of time, before that chunk of time was even over, was not giving the remaining chunk of time enough credit.

(Something about her tendency toward self-fulfilling prophecies. She hated when he was right.)

So, it had its fair share of hard moments, but those were never going to disappear. Neither were the good ones, though, she reminded herself. Sometimes, the fog surrounding them would just be a little thicker.

Through the clouds, October brought Gendry’s realization that, as much as he hated memes, Arya hated sickeningly sweet pet names even more - thus inciting a war that both seemed perfectly content to lose.

It brought the dreaded Founder’s Day party - the one her father had been hosting every fall, for as long as he’d been leading the organization. Gendry did wind up wearing a blue tie to coordinate with Arya’s gown, and he kissed her warmly when she said it brought out his eyes, and they only needed to use their secret hand signal - for the other to save them from a dull conversation - once each.

It brought the first real Northern snowfall of the season, and her sister’s move to Winterfell, and Jon’s announcement that he was going back to school - moving him out of the lineup for deployment for the foreseeable future.

It was a month of change and movement and emotion, and normally that would terrify Arya. It still did - kind of.

(Something about fear and swords, though. He was right about that, too.)

* * *

Arya and Gendry dedicated an entire Saturday morning to apartment hunting toward the end of the month, and they had absolutely nothing to show for it by the afternoon.

She toured three properties, and he scoured the Internet for openings, and every possibility they found, they shot down - explained it away because of no on-site leasing office, or the fact that parking was criminally expensive, or the old woman in the one mailroom that looked at Arya the wrong way.

Neither of them appeared particularly bothered by their fruitless search, despite how long it was taking. They declined her brothers’ invitation to dinner that night - opting to curl up on the pool house couch and watch movies instead, falling asleep a bit more intertwined than usual.

* * *

His voice was a whisper - still scratchy from sleep - from behind the shell of her ear.

“Happy bir-“

“Shh. I’m not awake.”

(In the early hours of a grey morning in November, Arya turned twenty-six.)

* * *

It had been years since Arya had been in Winterfell on her birthday.

For the past six, at least, she’d been knee-deep in midterms - content to stay in her room all day, fielding phone calls from her family and watching movies from the comfort of her own bed. Uninterrupted, not fussed over, her mind too exhausted by reflections of another year past to possibly enjoy any kind of revelry.

It wasn’t that she completely _dreaded_ her birthday, necessarily - she just never really cared for it the other way others did. Sansa practically celebrated her entire birthday _month_, for gods’ sake, and Arya could barely sit still for one rendition of ‘Happy Birthday’ - which, what were you even supposed to do when people sang _at_ you? Enjoy it? Honestly.

She could never put her finger on the exact reason she found her birthday so distasteful until she met Gendry and found that his reason made perfect sense. He hated being the center of attention - and so did she. Arya was extroverted and social in her younger years - sure - and she used to live for cake and presents as much as the next kid.

But depression had this way of making someone feel self-obsessed - an almost _constant_ center of attention.

Arya always tacitly accepted the notion of ‘walking around with a dark cloud overhead’ as a fine explanation of the illness, but it never really felt accurate enough to describe the hold it had on her. She always thought it was more akin to walking around with someone - some faceless, formless specter - hovering in front of her, blocking her path. One of its gossamer hands under her chin, forcing her eyes ahead. The other holding a mirror, forcing her to look at herself, as she tried to move forward.

So, when her birthday inevitably rolled around, year after year, the last thing she wanted to do was think about herself more than she already did. Not when her entire existence during the other 364 days hinged on the never-ending scrutiny of everything she’d ever done wrong, everything she’d do wrong in the future.

Twenty-six felt different - not overly auspicious, but different. Far be it from Arya to chalk that up to a new relationship, because Gendry was right - that wasn’t how that worked.

Even so, anybody on the outside looking in would be well within their rights to give the credit to her finding love, her progress with her mother, her success at her new job - and all of those things had certainly played their role.

The reason any of them existed in the first place, though, was her. It was her, and her commitment to healing, and the tenacity of her fight - and twenty-six felt like the year that she’d start to give herself some of the credit she’d deserved all along.

* * *

“See? That wasn’t so bad.”

“Oh,” Arya laughed, “he goes to one formal party, and suddenly the rest of them aren’t so bad.”

Gendry playfully swatted her backside, as he kicked the door of the pool house closed behind him. They tossed off their shoes in tandem - both of them instantly more relaxed.

“Well, I wouldn’t really mind them if they were all parties for you, _sweetheart_,” he told her, his tone teasing. She audibly groaned and lifted her hand to her forehead, feeling every bit the loser that she was accusing him of being with her gesture.

A low laugh rumbled from his chest, and he eyed her hungrily. Slowly, he closed the short distance between them, boxing her in against the wall with his arms.

“You know, this one was actually missing one thing, though,” Gendry said huskily, his gaze still raking over her form - clad in a golden yellow dress that he’d picked out. The color was beginning to grow on her yet.

She smiled directly at his mouth and lifted her chin, her eyes drifting closed involuntarily.

“Hm. What’s that?” she asked in a daze.

She felt his face grow closer - close enough to feel his breath at the corner of her mouth.

“Check the kitchen counter,” Gendry whispered against her lips. Arya felt him snort when she released a huff of indignation. She lightly shoved him away to clear her path.

“You’ll pay for that, Waters,” she mumbled, making her way through the dimly lit living room. “I told you not to get me anything, by the way!” she added over her shoulder. “I feel like that was a pretty simple instruction, so, really that’s double the punish-“

She stopped short when she rounded the corner into the kitchen, whipping her head back in the direction from which she’d come. Gendry was leaning against the doorframe - arms crossed patiently - having silently followed her.

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Not a chance.”

“He maintains his guest ledger entirely by hand, but he’s able to _ship_ pies?”

“He doesn’t, usually,” Gendry smiled. “Said it was just for friends and family.”

“You got peach,” she said incredulously, still looking back and forth between her boyfriend and the display of desserts. “And apple. And…Gendry, there are five pies on this countertop.”

“It bodes really well for me that five pies is all it takes to make your face look like that.”

“It’s perfect,” she breathed, swiftly crossing the room to wrap her arms around his middle. “It’s…you’re perfect.”

He rested his cheek on the top of her head, and she had an altogether lovely home already, but she could live right there, in that spot - she really could.

“I adore you,” he said into her hair.

They stood still for a moment - the weight of the last four months seeming to collide with both of them at once. The last time they’d had pie, their entire world had exploded in a matter of days. Now, it felt like the opposite - the entire world standing still with them, taking one long, relieved breath.

The moment turned into something else when Gendry’s hands slowly slid from where they rested on the small of her back - up her sides and under the swell of her breasts. Her breath hitched when his thumbs skated over her nipples.

“So,” he murmured, planting a soft kiss on her crown, “what was it that you were saying before?” Another kiss. “Something about double the punishment?”

Arya laughed breathlessly - half surprise, half lust. She pulled away to see his face lit up in silent challenge. Leisurely, she looped her fingers under his waistband and moved to guide him out of the room.

“Follow me.”

* * *

She tripped about a week later.

Maybe it was her fault for not paying attention to where she was going. (It wasn’t). Or maybe she’d grown too complacent. (She hadn’t - she was trying harder than she ever had before). Nonetheless, she stumbled - over a twig or a loose stone or her own two feet, most likely - and skidded across the forest floor, right to the edge of the pit.

Nothing particularly earth-shattering had led up to it - she’d woken up normally, gone to work, even decided on a whim to treat herself to a manicure on her way home. By the time she did get home, though - to the pool house, more accurately - the dirt was already under her fingernails from trying to break her fall.

It took Gendry all of fifteen seconds to realize what had happened - her apathetic response to his suggestion of ordering Braavosi _and_ Dornish for dinner might have been the tip-off. And he didn’t exist to fix her, she knew that, but he did simply _exist_ \- and that was a good enough starting point.

By then, they were rarely at a loss for words around each other - much to the frustration of anyone within earshot of them, usually. But it was still the little things that had the greatest impact.

It was the way that Gendry sat with her quietly by the mouth of the pit. Not for too long, but long enough for her to collect herself - not caring if he got a little bit dirty himself. It was the way she let him brush her hair after she showered that night - alone and in the dark. The way he didn’t argue when she had three slices of pie for dinner the next night, but did wake up early the following morning to ensure she had a real breakfast.

The way that she kissed him when she finally had the strength to grab his hand and pull herself up - kissed him to thank him, because words couldn’t sum up what it meant for someone to just be there.

(Kissed him and loved him and leaned all the way in.)

* * *

“I’ll let you look around, Miss Stark. Let me know if you think of any questions.”

(Arya and Gendry stopped kidding themselves at the end of November.)

“What do you think?” Gendry prompted, trailing behind her, as she meandered through the empty rooms of the two-bedroom apartment. He was only with her so they could grab brunch after Arya’s appointment - only for practicality’s sake.

She sighed.

“I don’t know,” she answered, ducking her head into one of the hallway closets. It did have a ton of storage - she couldn’t very well deny that.

“Have you seen the view from the kitchen window?” he asked. She had, in fact - a cluster of weirwoods, situated directly in her line of sight.

“Mm,” she agreed absentmindedly. “I don’t know if I’m really feeling it, though,” she lied.

“I guess the…walls. Are a little bright,” he stuttered when she stopped her tour to stand in front of him. She leaned - as casually as she could - against the doorframe.

“What do you really think?” she tested. His face fell, and she knew she’d caught him.

“It’s…” he trailed off. “I think it suits you perfectly,” he admitted softly - almost sadly, if she wasn’t mistaken. “You don’t?”

She swallowed carefully, because she did - she did think that. She actually thought that it felt like home from the second she walked in and that it would be completely pointless for her to look anywhere else. She thought she would want nothing more than to come home - to that place - after a long day and have it smell like her favorite candle, and probably wildflowers, and -

“I…love you,” she said cautiously.

His smile was blazing, reassured. “I love you, too.”

She swallowed again. “Do you think…I mean. You haven’t found anywhere yet. So, I just…like, maybe-“

“Arya,” he said gently, knowingly. “Do you think maybe I could live here, too?”

Her face flushed. “With me?”

“Preferably.”

She breathed a sigh of relief. “You don’t think it’s too…” she started, the question clear between them.

“We’ve lived in tighter quarters,” he reminded her.

“You know what I mean.”

Gendry laughed - a bit nervously - and coughed. “I think…that you’re sort of it for me, you know? And going to sleep without you sucks,” he added. “So, no. I don’t think it’s ‘too’ anything. Except like…’good to be true.’ Maybe.”

Arya stared at him in awe. “You really want to?”

“That _is_ what you were gonna ask, right?” he chuckled, running a hand through his hair. “Or did I just make a complete idiot of myself?”

“No more than you usually do,” she said. Her heartbeat was in her ears. “But, yes. That’s exactly what I was gonna ask.”

* * *

December was freezing and full of promise from the day it arrived.

Talisa gave birth to a dazzling, healthy baby boy in the middle of a snowstorm, in the middle of the night. They named him Ben, and no one cried more than Robb - except maybe Jon, when they asked him to be the godfather.

Ned asked Gendry to go with him to a conference down in Maidenpool. He mostly sat and listened to speakers and shook hundreds of hands, but he was significantly more confident than he’d been at the Founder’s Day party - didn’t even need Arya to call him with a fake emergency or anything.

Catelyn asked Arya if she might want to try going to therapy _with_ her sometime. Arya told her she’d think about it - and was pleasantly surprised when her mother didn’t take immediate offense. Instead, they started having breakfast together - just the two of them - every Saturday morning.

Ember turned four on the sunniest day of the month. The family threw her a party at the main house, with all of her brand-new best friends from her brand-new preschool in Winterfell. She insisted on wearing her Curious George costume from Halloween, and she got her wish - to make lemon cakes with her mother, and with her Aunt Arya, and with Gendry.

Arya and Gendry moved into their new apartment on a Saturday afternoon, still not a single piece of furniture to their names. They were determined to buy everything themselves, despite Catelyn’s best efforts to get them to _‘just take the stuff from the pool house,’_ but they realized that they didn’t have anything to sleep on by the time they’d returned home - _home_ \- from dinner.

They’d shop in earnest the next day - they had more than enough money between the two of them to invest in good, solid pieces. But for that night, Gendry ran back out to buy an air mattress, and they curled up on it as comfortably as they could to watch the last Harry Potter movie, and Arya thought briefly that maybe furniture wasn’t _absolutely_ essential - she already had everything she needed.

* * *

“Quiet!” Sansa hissed in a stage-whisper, giggling a bit into her mulled wine. “If she wakes up, I’m gonna kill you all.”

Arya snorted. “S’long as we finish wrapping the presents beforehand,” she slurred, stealing a pair of scissors from Gendry and shooting him a close-mouthed smile of defiance. “If she wakes up after that, we can just say we’re hanging out.”

“Tape,” Rickon requested from the other side of the circle.

The Stark siblings and partners were gathered on the floor by the fireplace in Sansa’s new house. Ben was fussing in a bassinet that Robb had set up in the next room, and quiet holiday music filtered through a pair of portable speakers on the coffee table, and, looking back - eight grown adults doing the job of one mythical gift-giver was a bit excessive.

A definite ‘too many cooks in the kitchen’ situation, but none of them would have it any other way.

“A children’s chemistry set?” Jon asked, baffled by the box he was meant to wrap. “Sans, she’s four.”

“Fuck you, Snow. My kid’s smart,” Sansa bit back in feigned offense. “Besides. Figured it’d be a nice change of pace from every single beverage we own being poured into the same mixing bowl, every single time I leave the kitchen.”

Talisa gently tied a ribbon on a rather misshapen box and rose to go feed the baby. Robb sat back against the couch, swirling the little bit of wine he had left in his glass.

“She’s smart, and she’s lucky,” he said. “This is exactly what he would’ve wanted.”

The room grew hushed at the nameless mention of Theon - such a longtime fixture in most of their lives - nearly a year since his passing, on their first Christmas without him.

Sansa sniffled sharply and set her glass down. Arya recognized the look - the look of someone trying not to cry - and she mirrored her sister’s actions, reaching a soothing hand around to rub her back.

“I…yeah,” Sansa tried feebly. “I really…You have no idea. How much it means that you guys are all here.”

“He was a good man,” Bran said - not new information, by any stretch, but a tender reminder. An undisputed truth.

The group continued their tasks in contemplative silence until Talisa returned to the room - Ben in her arms, fed and alert.

“He’ll go back down in a bit, but I thought his aunts and uncles might want to say hello before he does,” she said softly. “Any takers?”

The words had hardly left her mouth before Rickon outstretched his arms - his hands making childlike grabbing motions. Talisa began to make her way carefully to her brother-in-law, when Arya heard Gendry clear his throat from beside her.

“Can I?” he asked.

The simple request made Arya lightheaded, and she saw Talisa smile - both in agreement and at Arya’s reaction. If the mere question had given her such a profound physical reaction, then the image of her newborn nephew in her boyfriend’s arms threatened to launch her straight through time and space.

She smiled admiringly at Gendry, placing a hand on his arm, as she leaned over to kiss the top of Ben’s head. She felt Gendry sigh contentedly and pulled back to study him.

“This is a good look for you,” she said boldly, bursting into quiet laughter at the innocent jolt in his face. “Not what I meant,” she amended.

He quirked an eyebrow, glancing down at the baby and back up at her.

“Would you ever want one?”

“I don’t know,” she answered honestly. “Probably. Maybe. I don’t know,” she said again with a small smile. “Not for a long time, at least.”

“Me, too,” he agreed lovingly.

“Six months,” Jon piped up from Arya’s other side. “You’ve known each other for six months. You two are out of control.”

They both ducked their heads and blushed - realizing at the same time that they’d had yet another private conversation in front of Arya’s entire family. When they met each other’s eyes again, they said nothing, but their faces told the same story.

That it may have been six months, but it felt like six lifetimes.

* * *

Gifts were fully wrapped, and the wine was completely gone, and the siblings exchanged Secret Santa gifts when Ben finally fell back asleep. Arya got Sansa a new sketchpad, and Robb got her a diploma frame so she could _finally_ hang her certificate in her office.

She’d been clear, yet again, with Gendry that she didn’t want a present from him, and he listened this time - sort of.

He emphasized that he hadn’t _bought_ her anything when he went out earlier that morning, and she’d been confused by his tone, but when they slowly undressed each other later that night, she saw a clear bandage over an irritated patch of skin.

A small tattoo of an acorn, right over his heart.

* * *

The week between Christmas and New Year’s always felt like an entire year and a millisecond, all at once. This time was no different - made into even more of a mind-fuck with Arya and Gendry both off from work, thereby unburdened.

And unburdened they intended to stay. They spent more than enough time during that handful of days lazing and not leaving the apartment and seeing how long they could go without making a single decision. But when it came to their plans for ringing in the new year, leaving behind the old one that had changed everything - well. Those plans had been unwittingly made months before.

* * *

“I’ve revised the rules.”

“You’re joking. We’re not strangers anymore. Why do we still need rules?”

“You’re breaking the first one right now - don’t question the driver.”

“Gods. Alright, go on.”

“Number two,” Arya counted with her fingers, “one person picks the music, and the other person picks dinner.”

“What?!” Gendry exclaimed, shifting in his seat to face her. “So, my fate is either nonstop Taylor Swift or gas station pork rinds?”

“Was that another question?”

“I’m picking dinner. Continue,” he grumbled.

“Number three: still no side-seat driving. We both did pretty well with that one before.”

“Fair.”

“And number four,” she finished with a grin, “absolutely no shortage - under _any_ circumstances - of funny business.”

* * *

It took three hours for him to relent, and he sat facing the window - his back to her - the entire time, but she finally got that ballad. They’d already stopped twice already, but she had to pull over when he was done, to show him just how much she loved it - by kissing the breath right out of him.

She repaid the favor by performing an immaculate rendition of Candy Shop over Gendry’s scandalized shrieks. She didn’t pull over at the end of that one, but she did kindly remind him that ‘jealousy is the jaundice of the soul’ when he shook his head in reverent exasperation.

* * *

“Isn’t this - oh _fuck_, Arya - isn’t this against the law?” Gendry panted, winding his fingers through her hair.

(They’d stopped for the night - four hours to go, both keen on arriving at the final destination when it was still daylight. They had a room at a hotel down the street, but Arya saw a sign for a campground and was determined to make one brief pitstop before they checked in.)

She released him from her mouth, continuing to languidly stroke him, as she sat up from his lap. The shadows from the bare branches outside and the light from the moon all hit his face just so - like they’d all conspired beforehand to get his best angle, to capture the perfect picture of him, just for her.

She’d known that the Wolfswood was magical, but it was really outdoing itself at the moment.

“Gendry,” she said - her voice husky, “do you know how many times I fantasized about this?” She swung her leg over his thighs, bracketing him into his seat. “About having you inside me, in the back of that van?”

He threw his head back - eyes glazed over, fingers blindly working the ties of her shorts.

“I know, I know,” she cooed. “This isn’t exactly a van.” She did her best to keep her tone even - lifting herself as gracefully as she could to remove her bottoms, sinking onto him in one fell swoop, hissing at his groan of approval. “But I am not ending this year without fucking you in a vehicle.”

* * *

The Wall was positively sky-high - towering and stalwart and solid. Its face, its waterfalls that flowed in cascades during the summer months, all frozen - bright-white and unyielding. The sun was shining so brilliantly that it might have tricked Arya into thinking it was warm outside, if she didn’t know any better - and it made the surface sparkle.

Gendry’s eyes also sparkled, and Arya’s prediction had been right on the money. He was rendered speechless - so overcome that he looked like he wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. She still typically woke up before him in the mornings, and she always took a quiet moment to just look at him - take him in and let herself feel all of the things she never thought she could - so she understood his feelings completely.

Their hotel sat atop the structure, overlooking the frosty landscape below. There’d be festivities and fireworks that evening to welcome the year to come, but they had so much new ground to explore - so much on the Wall, and so much beyond.

* * *

Arya sat between Gendry’s legs - her back to his chest - on the second-floor balcony of their hotel room. They’d made sure to bundle up, to guard against the night’s harsh winds, and they had the perfect view - of both the sky before them and the crowd milling beneath them.

“That pair of teenage boys,” she pointed out.

“Hmm,” Gendry mused, mulling it over. “Not related. Their parents are four best friends who brought their kids along, and now they’re forced to spend New Year’s together.”

“That sucks,” Arya laughed, snuggling further into his embrace for warmth. From within the throng, she heard the beginnings of a countdown from thirty.

“What about that super old lady? Is she yelling at someone?” he asked incredulously, leaning forward minutely to get a better look.

“Yeah, that’s…the hotel chef. He messed up her order and fucked with her gluten allergy.”

“That’s lame,” he said, pinching her side.

She turned slightly - so she could lean her back against his inner thigh, her bent knees tucked up against his middle.

“Sorry,” she conceded with a smile, her breath coming out in distinct puffs. _20\. 19._ “I’m distracted.”

He tilted his head inquisitively. “Talk me through it.”

“It’s a good distraction,” she assured him. _15\. 14._ “I’m just…We’ve known each other for such a short time. And I already love you this much.” He smiled at that, tightening his hold around her shoulders. “So, I’m just thinking about how…pumped I am. To see how much I love you in the future.”

“Pumped,” he repeated, amused. _10\. 9._

“Yeah.”

“I’m pumped, too,” he said, raising his fist to bump hers. _5\. 4._

“Cool,” she smiled - leaning into him, letting him guide her face to his. _3\. 2. 1._

Their lips were slightly numb from the cold, but they kissed like their lives depended on it. It was like their minds were wiped of any other ability - like for just a second they could let themselves believe that kissing might be the answer to any problem they’d ever have.

It was like driving a little bit too fast with the windows down.

They broke apart but stayed close enough to bump noses. Arya kept her eyes closed, soaking in the effects of her heightened senses. Gendry brushed her lips again, speaking softly against them.

“Happy New Year, captain,” he whispered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (if the image of little tiny arya rapping to 50 cent and gendry clutching his pearls does not delight you, we can't level)
> 
> i'm gonna have so, so much more to say about all of this in the next few days, once i get my thoughts in order. if you follow me on tumblr, stay tuned for a full-blown thesis probably. 
> 
> but for now, in short: writing this story was so unexpectedly emotional and special, and sharing it with all of you has been such an unmitigated joy. i can't thank any of you enough for keeping this space warm and accepting. remember: therapy works, and no one is hard to love.
> 
> until next time ✨

**Author's Note:**

> here is the link to the map i used if anyone is curious - http://got.nebulagames.net/
> 
> i’m lightninginabottle0613 on tumblr. come say hi :)


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